Being present, Bosnia and a fantastic accent

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Hubby and I were running behind and certainly pushing the limit of our time constraints…

Not only had the week been flying at lightening speed, we had crammed far too much into this particular day. Attending a swim meet for our oldest daughter, a few last-minute gifts to purchase and, somehow finding a dress shirt and tie for the father/daughter Ball that hubby was taking our youngest to in just a few hours. Oh, yes, I forgot, we also had to fit in physical therapy appointments for us both before he could get fancy with our “little.”

It had been a week, to be sure, the kind where we felt the strain of full-time careers, events every evening (which even though we love attending our kids’ events) we had no time for a breather, conversation or any downtime. All this to be said, we were very aware of the gift of time to drive to the meet, to talk and catch up and even to hold hands in the car.

After daughter swam ferociously in her meet, we went in search of the perfect “fancy shirt” to match our youngest’s dress for the evening’s festivities.

I must tell you that hubby is not a “dress up” kind of guy. We often joke that he could be a model for Duluth Trading Company, as he is built like a linebacker and is nearly 6’4.” It is unfortunately, difficult to buy well fitting clothes off the rack. That day, we found a “Men’s Warehouse close by…”

The staff was attentive, taking hubby’s measurements and then began to look at options for him. I hung out to the side, soon distracted by a woman taking measurements for a man in a snappy suit by a set of mirrors.

I was mesmerized by her dialect, tone and honestly, her charisma. She was straightforward with the gentlemen in the suit, but humorous and likeable as well. She sent the man to try on another pair of pants and then I got to see another side of her. An employee was assisting her with the numbers related to measurements and I couldn’t take my eyes off them. The young man was teasing her about not remembering the numbers and she teased right back. There was an undeniable sparkle in her eyes.

“I could listen to you two all day,” I told her and the employee. She smiled and approached me as hubby and the other employee continued to search for the “right” shirt. She introduced herself, as did I. I cannot even help myself in a situation like that…. I just start asking questions because I am so intrigued.

“Where are you from?”

“I am from Bosnia,” she told me and the clouds instantly filled her eyes.

We talked about “being in America for almost 20 years, 18 of them working as a tailor in this same store.” She talked about her journey to get here, her husband of 47 years and her children and grandchildren. She told me she’d never known her country, “not being at war.”

My heart caught in my throat at that. She walked intentionally to where hubby was conferring with another employee while I allowed myself a minute. I knew nothing of this kind of battle….

How in the world do people live, “never knowing MY COUNTRY without WAR?” Her statement was somewhat matter-of-fact, and yet, it wasn’t and I could see the emotion trying to hide behind her smile and upbeat demeanor.

“It’s been a really hard year, Stacy. My parents and my brother died.” And just that quick, she allowed a few tears to fall and more humbling to me, let me witness this depth of pain. What an honor….

I covered her hand with mine and without a word, she hugged me. We talked for few more minutes; she found hubby the “perfect” shirt and tie for the ball and then disappeared. She was back in a flash, handed me a business card with her name and number. She thanked me for listening, encouraged me to “not be a stranger,” and offered to help with any tailoring needs we may have in the future.

Hubby wowed me with his “fancy clothes,” she gave us both one more hug and as we left, I just felt as if it had been holy ground. How unexpected in the middle of some rushed errands, to have this encounter – such vulnerability, strength and resilience. I was so humbled and glad to have met her.

I have been praying for her lots in the last week, for her country and ours, for the millions around the globe who are enduring so, so much. I have thought about the many who’ve immigrated here in the hopes of a better, freer, more peaceful existence and honestly hope I am helping, somehow with that….

I am thinking about how God holds each and every person on the planet so, SO dear and somehow keeps it all straight. That is astounding to me, every day. I am beyond grateful and hope with all my heart that I do right by him.

Thank you, Jesus for providing perspective in the best, most unexpected places. Thank you that in you Christ Jesus, are all things, that you are through all things and in you, all things hold together. Thank you for a glimpse into the lives and challenges of others in a way that I never would have expected. Please help me not take for granted the life, freedom and gifts I have been given, and so not deserved. Be with families who are apart this Christmas, for our current and veteran members who have answered such difficult calling. Reunite and redeem our world this Christmas, as only you can. Thank you for Azra, her family and strength, her joy and resilience. Even a chance meeting like this makes me see, appreciate and love you more.

Like a Handprint on my Heart

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Like many in the world right now, I am captivated by the new movie, WICKED, For Good. But my story with Wicked goes back to May 31, 2006. My oldest daughter was 5 months old. I was learning so much about being a mama, about her and was very much changed for the best reasons.

I had watched the Today show off and on growing up, but was really connected to Katie Couric. My focus as a young therapist was bereavement and her story greatly impacted me. I felt some loss myself that day as her last day at the Today show aired. There was a montage of people who had each been touched by Katie’s presence after enduring something in their own stories that was difficult and life changing. Katie dedicated the performance of For Good to this select group who had also impacted her. I can remember watching that performance with awe, tears and so much emotion. The song put into words my thoughts about so many in my life…

I really didn’t know the story of Wicked at that time, but the song became so important to me. A few months later, a dear friend introduced me to the story in the musical and I’ve never been the same.

Just a bit more background…I was introduced to my first “big musical – Les Misérables,” when I was in high school. Much like my love of reading, I became completely enthralled in the story, the music and the beauty of musicals. I would learn the story and music by heart, often acting out the whole show in fabulous one-woman style. This has been true for my whole life (maybe no longer one woman shows, but my love of theater) and has not changed.

The story of WICKED has so many connections for me and I could write many different pieces and perspectives about what it means to me. (Who knows, perhaps I will?) This perspective though, on the eve of Thanksgiving Day is about how so many have impacted and changed me for good…

On a bike ride the day after my daughter and I watched the latest Wicked movie, I found myself thinking about the lyric, “you’ll be with me, like a handprint on my heart…” My mind had drifted there (in a way that is God given) and I thought about person after person in my life who has stayed with me in many ways. I am blessed with a really good memory, so I found myself praying for so many.

I need to confess that I am not as artistically gifted as my kids. (Perhaps with writing, but drawing, painting, etc? Not so much…) That’s why when I got home, my compulsion to create something with all the thoughts I was having surprised me, A LOT. I chatted with youngest about my ideas. She was up for helping, but had some things to finish first. While I waited for her, I began jotting names on a big piece of butcher block paper.

She came back and we began to create a huge heart, filled with many names, all the while remembering and smiling about so many who’ve deeply impacted us. Oldest daughter arrived home and was enthralled also, quickly joining in with names and artistic abilities. The icing on the cake happened when husband and our son also wandered in to join our project. We sat talking, all five of us, picking from a wide array of colors, and discussing how our lives have been changed for good by so many.

The kids were surprised to see I’d written the names of a couple difficult, significant relationships on our project as well. But as I thought about the “handprints on my heart” over the course of my life, even a few difficult relationships are important. God used even the times that were so painful to help me become where I am now.

I sat looking at the names: Campers who changed my life and perspective from Camp Sunshine, a beloved mentor who impacts my life, still, every day, the bullies who made me tougher and stronger from both elementary and high school, my hospice internship supervisor who still exudes peace, wisdom and strength that continues to amaze me. There are countless names and experiences that I am so profoundly grateful for, that I can’t even put into words: the community we are still learning about in our (new-ish) faith community, our parents and grandparents who have given us so much, including a profound legacy of faith, the family who became another family to me as I babysat for them every weekend for many years. There is the pastor who impacted us during COVID, the kids’ friends, co-workers, so many who’ve gone to heaven that we thankfully will be reunited with. Teachers, we and the kids could NEVER forget and so many others…and our Jesus who covers it all, our redeemer who has the biggest impact on everything, everywhere.

In this Thanksgiving week, know that you have all impacted me, our family and our lives somehow, in a beautiful way. If you happen to be at our house, know that whether your name is on our new drawing (or not because we missed it,) know that indeed, we are made of the many handprints on our hearts that God himself knits together. Thank you for your love, impacting presence, wisdom, joy and even the ways you’ve made me (us) stronger. You are loved.

I would love to interact with you about the handprints on your heart, if you so choose. Please feel free to comment below.

Blessings and thanksgiving to you all,

Both/And

Xoxo

“I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy” (Philippians 1:3-4, NIV

The things I never realized and some things I did.

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I was telling a friend at church the other day how much I wanted the whole world to know Jesus. We were chatting about the increased and increasing tension in the world, the sometimes struggle to remain hopeful amidst parenting stress, financial worries, aging parents and health concerns; our own aging processes and jobs that involve high needs. I sat listening and realized, some of these things just feel like everyday conversation to me, because of the career I get to have. I don’t become hopeless, in fact, I actually expect to see improvement because that is how counseling (most times) works: someone arrives because something feels dire, and as they feel safe and supported, we can process emotions, discover new needs and our own strength. It is quite miraculous, really – the process, the growth and the transformation. I see Jesus in it all…every day, every session.

Perhaps that is why, in reflecting on my conversation with a friend, I can remain hope-filled. I have witnessed it so many times. I don’t know how to be another way…

On the flip side, I am still, ever so diligently and (im)patiently, waiting for my body to return to a familiar pattern of walking. It is both doing so, and it is so slow!

For my whole life, CP has just been there and I’ve grown with it. I don’t even realize most of the time that I am adapting to my environment, sometimes grabbing a hand, using a wall for stability or many other adaptions because it is just what I am used to….

Perhaps this is too much information, I hope not because it feels important…

From the time I started shaving my legs as a teen, I have loathed it. It would make sense, right? When you think about balance being the biggest challenge for me with CP, I cannot balance on one leg, ever. And especially not on a slippery surface and with a sharp object in my hand. And yet, never in my whole life, did I once, think to ask my parents for a shower seat. I just did the best I could, and hated the process in my head. It is the flip side of hope being a given for me – almost as if I assumed the struggle was just a part of the deal.

How often do we go along doing the thing we don’t realize that is actually a struggle because it hasn’t occurred to us that we don’t HAVE TO STRUGGLE? Perhaps this is relationship dynamics that we are just so used to that it doesn’t occur to us that we have choices and power to change more than we thought for? Or maybe the habits that we know don’t make us feel great, but the thought of really changing them feels impossible or too daunting? (This one for me is being on my phone too much! UGH!) Or, one that I am hearing a lot in my practice right now, is carrying around crippling, wounding or damaging beliefs about ourselves that are just NOT true, improving our existence or getting us closer to Jesus.

A couple weeks ago, my compassionate husband asked me, “Babe, we should get you a shower seat.” My first reaction in my body was to push this loving suggestion aside. “I don’t need that!” (Translation: It is so hard for me to accept my limitations, still..) I am so grateful husband did not quit the conversation, but instead, with the heart of Jesus said, “Stace, I don’t want you to struggle or fall in the shower.” And then, “shaving shouldn’t have to be that hard for you.”

It was a moment of being seen and cared for, protected and loved and I almost missed it. Once I got past my own stuff, I could see it with profound gratitude. With the swiftness of Amazon, he put the shower seat together two days later. Though I still wrestled with “being needy,” because of it, when I used it later that night, I shed a couple tears at both the ease of shaving my legs and his wisdom.

I hadn’t realized how I struggled with this seemingly simple thing, my whole life. (And now I think we ALL should have a shower seat! Lovely!)

I didn’t know what I didn’t know…do any of us? I didn’t know that I didn’t have to struggle the way I was and I’ve always had hope. It is a pretty cool moment when the two come together…

I think we could all use a bit of that in our world right now, November 2025. Maybe it’s worth thinking about for a minute, where are you struggling that you don’t need to? What are some things that might be limiting you that you didn’t even realize? On the other side, where are you holding hope and resilience without even realizing it?

Perhaps there is room for a bit of loosening and holding close. Being kinder to ourselves in the struggle and being aware of our own strengths. It comes in lots of ways:  maybe allowing our walls to come down a bit, or being kinder to ourselves, seeing a situation a bit different after a lifetime of limiting beliefs or even in a shower chair. I am ever grateful that Jesus cares about it all because HE cares so deeply about each and every one of us.

Both/And

Xoxo

Psalm 16:9

World Cerebral Palsy Day 2025

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What a thing to be both so proud of this community, and to wish there were no such battles to be fought, endured and victorious over because of CP.

In an ironic moment today, I visited Dr. Rush because my body has been having some extra muscle spasms for the last week. As he was giving me a steroid shot, I mentioned that it is World CP Day. He smiled and said, “We need an anti-CP day.” Agreed. And in that sentiment, we in this community are so many things.

I wrote this piece with such pride, honor and hope. If you know someone with CP, loves and cares for someone with CP, please take a moment to honor who and how we are in the world. If you don’t, we are all pretty badass and have lots to share. We would love to tell you, today or any.

 

https://cpresource.org/topic/policy-advocacy/world-cerebral-palsy-day-2025

 

 

 

Every moment, a gift.

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I am not entirely sure when I really understood that we are not promised tomorrow or even really the next hour…

It may have been with the death of my beloved Gram. She was there, always there when I needed her. Until the knock on the door, the news that she’d died very suddenly without warning in the night.

Maybe it was going through the many deaths of high school students in my first social work job after Hope College. The loss of Gram gave me empathy for the students I met who grappled with the instant losses of friends, whether through car accidents, unknown illness and other reasons. I understood the shock on their faces, the anger, inability to understand a sudden, mortal reality and the pain of things left undone.

Yes, I really began to understand it then. But on a September night 25 years ago, the reality of our mortality hit me like a tsunami and I’ve never been the same.

A boy I loved, some extremely poor decisions by others and the instant death of 3 people taught me both how very fragile our time on the earth is and how every moment is a gift.

I would be lying if I didn’t acknowledge that my beliefs are also wrapped in the fact that I do not believe in entitlement. We just are not really entitled to anything as we live here. Not our health, our livelihood, our loved ones. I personally am not entitled to walk across a room like everyone else. But that I can walk at all? Well, THAT, like everything else I am given, is a gift.

My breath, my heartbeat, and my health. The sun on my face and the rolling clouds. My marriage and healthy, amazing kids. That I get to learn more about trauma and treating it every day; that I get to hear people’s hardest moments, deepest fears and greatest difficulties? Gifts, along with the moments of change, triumph and peace that come with the hard work of engaging in counseling. That those enduring unimaginable loss tell me that they feel hope? Gifts.

My son strumming Blackbird on his guitar or asking me to go for a ride in the Jeep he rebuilt? My daughter giggling with friends while making cookies or learning a new TikTok Dance? The love of some of the best teachers on the planet? Absolute gifts. Trying on homecoming dresses and having your older sister join the fun just because? A lightning show and pouring down rain? My oldest soaring to new heights as her life continues to unfold. The look on my love’s face, well, anytime? GIFTS. 

You may think I am sappy or really sentimental and emotional…or shake your head with bitterness, “must be nice Stacy.”

Here’s the truth. This perspective for me is the real deal, because I see, hear and experience the hardest moments and absolutely, don’t want to take a moment for granted.

I had a few very hard days this summer when I honestly wasn’t sure if my muscles were going to calm down and stop spasming. I was scared and longed for peace. Thankfully, thanks be to God, they did. But even as I am still re-learning how to walk, I am so grateful for how I came through those days. Even when I am irritated that I am STILL re-learning, I must return to gratitude that my muscles are not hurting at the level of those days, currently.

Though it will sound cliché and a lot like the chorus of an Aerosmith song, I really don’t want to miss a thing. I don’t want to miss a minute of my son’s senior year because there is a drumbeat telling me how fast this time goes. I don’t want to begrudge these hot days (even with, ahem…hot flashes,) because I am all too aware of the cold that will come here in Michigan. The late nights waiting for teens to get home, the moments with aging family members. I don’t have enough time for it all, I can’t be present enough and yet, I don’t want to miss anything about the people God has blessed me with, the life I am given and the moments…that all matter.

Before you think me as that idyllic mom or human, know this. It is not perfect. I expect too much sometimes, lose my shit in other moments and make big mistakes. I say or do the wrong thing, struggle with my own insecurities and get impatient. (We all wish we could miss those moments!)

Yet, the not missing those either is this: I get to be humble, apologize to my sweet family and give them a model of a really human mama. I get to pray with them, ask forgiveness and learn from them. We get to testify to the fact that grace abounds, that God’s grace IS SUFFICIENT and that HE is the giver of every good and perfect gift.

I always dreamed of raising kids in way that these were not just things we said, but instead, the real life reality among us. I am so profoundly grateful that I think we have.

We love people, believe in the good, life-giving presence of Jesus and because of it, every moment truly IS, A GIFT.

I don’t know where life finds you as you read this post. Maybe some roll their eyes and think I am saccharine. Maybe others have met us and see some version of this or DON’T. Maybe my hope and belief in the good makes you angry because, you think it is BS. And still others might wholeheartedly agree.

Whichever it is, or maybe another altogether, I want you to know, I think you are a gift. I pray you see, feel and know how important you are to others and to GOD himself. I pray you experience gifts every moment, the blessings and love of others, the sovereignty of Jesus and the hope of all that is yet to come.

I think I hear Aerosmith playing in the background….

Both/And

XOXO

Starting to remember…

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If you read my last post, you already know that there was some serious both/and going on for me last week, with Jesus, with living with CP and with the work I get to do with clients. I have a pretty cool follow up to share…

With all my wrestling last week, reading the book of Mark again (different at this point in my life,) and struggling with some pain and frustration due to re-learning my body post-pump implantation, I was pretty weary. I came to Friday which in some ways is my Sabbath after a busy week. I’ve been struggling with some insomnia due to some muscles and joints over-compensating for the new learning and still trying to figure out my balance. I was frustrated that God was “silent” about these issues, at least from my limited perspective, and there was a lot more output last week and a lack of input on my part to recharge. Friday was a perfect emotional storm for me (bless my dear husband!)

After some fantastic “therapy” with my dear friend and hairdresser, Kim, I spent some time trying to connect with Jesus, but felt stuck. I tried to journal, but just felt mad. I tried to work out and that only seemed to frustrate my already frustrated body.

Hubby was so wise, listened as I finally cried, “what if this is the best it gets?” I was referring to this “new body,” post-pump surgery.

“It’s not, we’ll get it figured out. Go see Luke.” He hugged me tight.

Luke is my physical therapist. He is the best combination of listener, encourager and coach in regards to recovering or relearning this body. I have seen him off and on for many years, as CP is not a one and done in terms of rehabbing. He is so familiar with my body’s quirks and is able to push me when I need it, reframe my frustration and cheer me on with the efforts of recovering. I am so thankful he is on my team. He also loves Jesus, which is an added bonus.

I warned him as he entered the room I waited in that I was going to cry today. He smiled and stated, “I’ve got Kleenex.”

I gave in to the frustration and weariness of the day, the fear that this was my new normal and also shared my wrestling with God. I lost count of the Kleenex I soaked for a few minutes.

He was reassuring as always, saying to me, “it is too early to know what your body will do with all the changes. We will keep working on it. I don’t believe this is as good as it gets for you.”

I sighed, thankful that he believed it and we got to work. An hour later, I walked out a bit easier, grateful for his perspective and professionalism, ability to help me understand these muscles better. I also always feel like these appointments are a gift from God (even though the efforts sometimes make me swear under my breath.)

After a stop at my favorite gift shop for a tiny bit of retail therapy, I felt another nudge in my spirit.

The wrestling as I was reading Mark had me stuck and I was not ok with that. I sat in my car in the sun and dialed my dear friend and Pastor, Ross. It was another few minutes of God-appointed conversation.

My tears again flowed easily, but as I fought my vulnerability, I also was grateful to be known and safe in my humanness. Ross is a great listener, encourager and friend. He also brought me the wisdom of his years of studying the Word, giving me perspective to chew on related to faith healing, my feelings of
injustice that God felt silent and encouragement to continue working it out with the God of the universe. He prayed for me with the compassion of one who knows, had no judgement for my “tantrum,’ for lack of a better word and just showed me the heart of the Savior in those few minutes on the phone.

Our evening was filled with friends who are family, the laughter and fun that were exactly what I needed.

The next day, I just rested, read, wrote and then another evening with dear friends. God was meeting all my needs with these interactions, prompting me to rest and just be. Behind the scenes I believe he was knitting together reminders of his presence, his love, care and meeting of my every need with the people in my life, his love and truth.

Sunday morning found me trying hard to get moving and get ready for church. All of the sudden, as I walked from my room to the bathroom and then the closet, my legs seemed to “remember” how to walk…

I stopped, taking in a breath. Before that moment, my movements had felt so forced, awkward and not my normal. But in that moment, my legs seemed to just take a few steps without me instructing every step. I looked at my husband who was also getting ready.

“Watch me walk a second, does that look normal?” I asked Matt. He nodded, then I asked him an even weirder question.

“Show me how you walk across the room.” Funny, he didn’t even flinch. He smiled at me, maybe shook his tush a bit and showed me again how to walk. In that moment, the tumblers in my brain seemed to fall into place a bit. It was both so strange and so miraculous. I have been waiting for this body to go back to normal, or at least find a natural pace without the lifelong spasticity I’ve had. Why this particular morning?

I think part of it was God’s very grace in saying, “I am not going to take CP from you. But I am here with you, I know you are kind of at your wit’s end. I am going to answer your prayer for relief differently than you are asking for. But I will always answer you. I am always in this with you.”

I felt the angst that had been building inside me since Friday at least (and probably longer), begin to dissipate with the feeling of Jesus’s presence in my steps. I felt the peace I had been seeking start to push the frustration from my body and a little bit of confidence in my steps move in and replace it.

In the few days since, I have not had to work nearly as hard for each step, emotionally or physically. I have been able to be kinder and more mindful with this body, trusting that the knowledge of how to walk is still there. Some of the overcompensating tendencies are settling down, which means also the pain that comes from overcompensating is mellowing as well.

I am stunned with the way God answered my prayer for relief this time. It is not the miracle that I hope for, that one moment I will have CP and the next it is gone. But, it is a miracle in its’ own way, that this body does indeed hold memory and that things are improving.

Thank you Jesus. Thank you for the permission to be angry, weary, lacking understanding and not holding it against me. Thank you not giving up on me. Thank you for the people in my life that show me more of who you are and meet me in the right ways and time because that is your prerogative. Thank you for relief that is different than I hoped, thank you that your ways are so much higher than mine will ever be. Thank you for the grace and mercy of new steps and that you are always in it with me.

I pray that you see God in the most unexpected places today, in the love and presence of people who are with you and are the very representation of Jesus. I pray that if you are feeling hope or hopeless, that you experience the presence of power of Jesus in the most amazing ways: the safety of loved ones, old things made new and surprise answers. I am praying for you…

Both/and

xoxo

A matter of faith, hope and not getting the answer we want

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I can remember paging through the Bible often as a kid. The pages were tissue thin, had a sound all of their own. I loved the “red words.” When I learned they were the words of Jesus, I loved them even more. I could feel the aliveness of the Word; hope, love and power seemed to flow out of the very words of God, breath and life in each verse.

I can’t tell you how old I was, but picture a very young version of me, lying on my stomach and paging through the mysteries of the Bible. Suddenly, I come across John 14:13-14 (NIV), which states: “And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it”. I remember sitting up with an understanding (and hope) for what this could mean for me personally with cerebral palsy. It may have been a little like asking Santa Claus for my heart’s desire, but not toys.

That’s where that particular memory fades…

But over the course of my life, I can remember praying with all my heart, with all my trust and belief in God the Father, Jesus and the Holy Spirit, that cerebral palsy would be removed from my body, my being. As I’ve studied scripture, the stories and miracles of Jesus, the healing he performed, it has been a point of wonder, confusion, frustration, hope, despair and yes, continued faith. The paralytic, brought to Jesus by his friends, rewarded for his faith with get up and walk…

The woman who bled for years, healed as Jesus’s garment slipped through her fingers… can you imagine the moment when she felt his very power heal the ache in her body that for so long kept her prisoner from her friends, community and life?

Parents ripped apart with the death of beloved children, only to witness the tender words and power of Jesus to give life and breath back…

Those judged and exiled from their community due to disease and pain, healed in an instant, quiet word from Jesus…

Yes, I have drank these parts of scripture in as a child, teen, young adult and still now as a mom and woman who has loved Jesus longer than I haven’t. I wrestle, praise, cry out, plead, love and surrender, over and over again.

I am again reading through the Bible, through the lens and wisdom of the Bible Project. It has been so transformative. I am learning and understanding the background, context and some of the history I have so longed for in my life. I find myself craving the Word in ways I only dreamed of.

As I began the New Testament (again) this week, it threw me off to feel a familiar sadness, despair, longing, jealousy. I began reading the Gospel of Matthew. Then Mark and the stories of healing, redemption and wholeness leave me feeling so many conflicting feelings.

“Son, your sins are forgiven.” Jesus tells a paralyzed man. “Which is easier, to tell him, your sins are forgiven or get up and take your mat and walk?” The next few sentences became about the lessons, the teachers and his authority. All, important things. But as I have felt so often, became the question in my mind…was he healed because of his faith? Does it all come down to me not having enough? Could that be why the answer for me has always been “no?”

As I am reading the gospels, there is such a painful, familiar both/and, the ache of faith and belief, and the answer for me being, “no.” It is a massive mystery to me, the ways God heals some and not others.

In my work, I hear so many things:  hope and restoration, the most difficult, hopeless, despair and many things in between. And I have learned to live with not being able to understand it. The family whose child died on vacation, the woman diagnosed with cancer in the prime of her life. The teens living without their beloved mama when they need her the most, the cancer that takes life far too early. The infant who begins breathing against all odds, cancer that goes into remission against great odds. Hard – won sobriety and strength, day by day.

I was speaking with a client, who talked about the fear of impending decline for a brave loved one who is valiantly fighting cancer. I was listening, then gently asked, “How is this between you and the Lord?” I internally expected the familiar sense of unfairness that often rises, “why our family, why so soon when there is so much life left to live together.”

“I just feel gratitude that we’ve gotten to be together this long.”

I was so moved and afterword, thanked God for what this client had taught me in that hour. As I’ve wrestled with my own “whys,” this week, the clients’ beautiful perspective came back.

Even though my limited understanding struggles with the mysteries of Jesus’s ministry, who and how he chooses to heal and how to live with waiting to understand it all, for me, the overwhelming truth of grace and mercy in it all reminds me again and again who Jesus is…

If I am going to love him, then I must accept HIS very being, the good, and the things that will not make sense to me in my limitations. I am thankful that he invites me to bring my pain, confusion, even jealousy sometimes, and he changes those, even if he doesn’t heal CP this side of heaven. I am thankful he transforms my difficulties into gratitude and surrender…

And I DO love him. So much. So, like any relationship, I continue to learn, love and know him. I continue to pursue his heart, so good, right and so intensely full of love. And I embrace the mystery of “no,” knowing that when it is time for my yes, the YES will be tender, loving and redemptive.

What a day that will be, for us all. Until then, I pray for you in the yes’s and no’s, the heart-bending difficult and the glorious good. I pray we can be there for each other, in it all. I pray that you (and I) can try to keep loving, trusting and knowing God’s heart, no matter what. Because it is so worth knowing….

Both/And

Xoxo

James 1:17

Chasing the light, cathedrals and how Redwood trees remind me of camp…

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We missed church that morning. That is not such a huge deal, other than the fact that we truly love our church community and we want to be connected. But we don’t believe that God is not understanding about the times we are unable to attend church. That said, we missed it….

I got on my bike, a renewed effort to strengthen both my muscles and my joy after a season of being grounded from my bike because of medical complexity.

Though the temperature was 80 degrees and climbing as I got situated on my recumbent, I was overjoyed as soon as I began my ride on this beautiful summer Sunday. The ride in itself felt holy; the ability to move, the breeze, a collection of smells as I rode. Then I started listening to a sermon from one of my favorite pastors, Steve Carter.

He is brilliant, humble, engaging and a faithful teacher, pastor and human who adores his Savior. He teaches with an incredible insight, humor and wisdom that never fails to draw me closer into relationship to Jesus Christ. During Covid, he became “our family pastor,” through a series of what I can only assume was a God-himself-given appointment. We’ve met, chatted a few times and now, I consider him a “friend.” I haven’t had a chance to listen to his teaching much as of late, but this morning, as my legs began to pedal, my senses filled with the goodness, blessings of summer and my heart open, I was drawn to his teaching, his heart and the learning I always glean from him.

This particular teaching was so full of learning that I could write many pages. But as is typical with how I approach writing, it is usually one phrase that I cannot shake and the writing, learning and processing comes from there.

Steve talked about the Redwood trees in California; some are 300-350 feet tall, growing by 10 feet/ year. They are literally, chasing the light. Their bark is disease resistant. Resin that is fireproof. They drink fog, have a savings account of water. Therefore, they are also drought resistant.

Their roots, however are only 9-12 feet deep, BUT, spread out 100 + feet. They have interconnected roots with other redwood trees. When one redwood is sick, it somehow sends a signal to the others. They will stop what they are doing, send nutrients to the sick one…

I love nature and I love trees. As Steve described these incredible trees, I was fascinated. Then he began making connections to the community, body of Christ…

These trees function much like body of Christ.

When we are IN Christ…even though we have individual preferences, biblical mentality and convictions – nothing, nothing, nothing gets in the way of you being in Christ, me being in Christ and us being in Christ together.

I nearly stopped my bike as he said that last phrase.

Every week in my practice I hear about family, community and global tension related to the current state of the world. I hear about beliefs, differences, anger and pain because somehow, we have lost a sense of being in Christ together.

And yet, this summer, I again got to see, a community of camp staff, mentors, leaders, support staff, kitchen and maintenance staff model these very truths that our world so badly needs.

Our oldest daughter spent the summer on the Shores of Lake Michigan as a camp counselor where her grandparents met and I also spent four summers. It is a place that has deep roots in West Michigan, a long legacy of serving families and building the kingdom of God.

My daughter says, “it was life-changing in every way,” from the campers she met, friends she made, experience of being on the shores of our beloved Lake and most importantly, the communion she experienced with her peers as they all grew into deeper relationship with Jesus. She tells me over and over how she had never experienced Jesus this same way – praying together, supporting each other and even praying for me with some muscle difficulties this summer.

My mind was thinking about her and her camp community as Steve continued and I kept pedaling…

While I hiked, I came to a group of Redwoods, grown in a circle. A ranger explained: one falls to the ground, seeds scatter. The rest send nutrients, and as they come together there is an interconnectedness. These trees grow connected to this tree that has fallen that is actually alive. This is called a cathedral…

Again, the connection to the body, community of Jesus seekers and followers: This is how I connect to the alive, dynamic, compassionate and loving body of Christ. I join him and others, not asking him to connect to me…

In a world that is more polarized and self-focused than I can ever remember, let us understand in the words of Steve Carter:

When people can care, share vulnerability, this is underlying meaning of cathedral in in the church. Redwoods can’t grow alone, nor can Christians. We must have community that we invest in. Who are we one-anothering?

From what I was able to witness through my daughter’s summer, there was a one-ness with her staff, that though they had different jobs at camp, ages and populations they served, they all came together for prayer, communion, sharing and being one with each other and Jesus. Campers and staff came together as individuals had different needs while at camp. My daughter told me how on two different weeks, a camper attended camp who simply couldn’t make the steep climb down the stairs to Lake Michigan, so instead of “Polar-bearing in Lake Michigan,” the whole camp went “poolar-bearing in the camp pool” instead. What  small and mighty examples of the life we get to share together in heaven. That is why the ending is so difficult after 11 weeks together…

I have talked to so many recently who’ve asked me how our daughter is doing with the transition out of camp life. If you’ve been there, you know what I am going to say. If not, here’s the truth.

Leaving camp, just like leaving any beautiful experience with Jesus is SO HARD. Our hearts long for the connection, focus and passion of being with Jesus and others who seek him. Yes, the fun of camp is not easy to leave either, but for most, I believe it is about communion and community.

As I listened to Steve, all I could think about was the phrase, “chasing the light.” I want to be like those Redwoods, chasing the light toward heaven. I want to be interconnected to those who love Jesus too, and to those who don’t know him yet, giving care and roots when things are beautiful and when they are not. I want to give the unconditional love and support that is so needed this side of heaven. I want to live in such a way that my life says, “nothing, nothing, nothing gets in the way of you being in Christ, me being in Christ and us being in Christ together.” And I want to grow with my cathedral, the holiness I get to witness in every good and perfect gift until God calls me home.

I am profoundly thankful for camp ministry around the world that brings us a vision of life together with Jesus and his people. Thankful for every beautiful opportunity that our daughter and her friends got to experience this summer and I am thankful for the Lord over it all: sunsets and waves, campfires and fireflies, songs and skits, creativity and laughter and the planting of sees that will take root and forever chase the light.

May we all, chase His light, wherever and however we experience it. May we all share it, however we can. And may we be connected to one another that when one hurts, falls or falters, we are aware enough to help heal.

Both/And

Xoxo

1 Corinthians 13:4-8

Dear John and (*Sarah),

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When we parked my wheelchair on the lawn at The Grand Rapids Symphony Picnic Pops a few weeks ago, I was preoccupied. You see, I was finally going to see, in person, Sutton Foster. I could go on and on, but the short version is, when I had my youngest daughter in 2011, Sutton was in the middle of Tony Award Season for ANYTHING GOES. I happened to catch her and the cast on Good Morning America and was completely mesmerized. The real truth is, I am always, always captivated with dance. The power of the human body, the control and the beauty is especially poignant to me as a woman with cerebral palsy.  I cannot imagine being able to dance, move or even have the body of dancer. I often dream of it in heaven though and the role model of my heavenly dance has been Sutton Foster since 2011.

Somehow in June I became aware that she was going to be performing very near my hometown and I nearly lost my mind.

Hubby and I made the evening a date night and I could not have been more excited. We parked our car and as I leaned over to hug him and tell him it was already, even before the show started – a perfect date night, a parking attendant gently knocked on the window, looking sheepish. Hubby opened the door and she said, “Would you like a golf cart ride to the seating area?”  I was grateful, told her so, and then made a joke about our quick hug. “Oh, you guys are so cute!” She said.

A golf cart ride through the meadow, with tree frogs already singing. Dusk was still a bit off, but I looked forward to sitting and talking with my love before the symphony started. The driver of the golf cart dropped us off at the entrance to the park where the stage was lit and ready. A volunteer directed us to the ADA seating and though we had to go over some uneven grass, hubby is a pro. He parked my wheelchair and then unfolded his own camp chair and sat down close to me. An accordion player was on stage and it was the perfect “picnic” backdrop. His joy playing the accordion was palpable and the music was lovely. I glanced around, taking in everything around me…lots of joy, laughter, food aroma, instruments beginning to tune up; crickets, and –

I lost my train of thought as she stood up in front of me. (She looked like a Sarah, even though I have no idea what her name really is.…) I couldn’t tell how old she is, but her shirt caught my attention first. SheRUNS Grand Rapids. Running, is another longing that goes unfulfilled because of CP. I smiled thinking of her getting to run, looked at her familiar steps, the AFO’s on her legs and the way she held her friend or family member’s arm.

It ALWAYS catches my attention when there are other CP warriors in my proximity because the statistics for CP are 1 in 374. And even in that, because of the range of affectedness, the number is more like 1 in 20,000 when you think about seeing someone else like yourself with CP. Yes, I definitely notice my fellow warrior friends. I felt our similarities, even though I didn’t get to meet her.

While I was watching everything around me, someone else arrived in his motorized wheelchair, came to a stop next to hubby. I immediately knew he was another CP warrior. But it was also his smile that caught my attention first. His person was beautifully attentive and I was so touched, because I know this devotion from hubby.

His body had more contractures than my own, his hands curled with spasticity. While I sat quietly considering the warriors around us, I felt a certain kinship. And then, a huge wave of what I can only describe as “survivor’s guilt.” As I heard him speak to his person about unwrapping his sandwich, his speech was also impacted by CP. I sat thinking, how lucky am I? I am moderately affected…AND I AM affected. I sat wrestling with both realities, neither of which I can deny.

I felt an odd pull to engage with John so I struck up a conversation…

We joked a bit about the lack of cloud cover and the hot summer sun. I teased him about stealing the fan around his neck, that we would pay big money for it… I introduced hubby and myself to both he (John) and his person. She was crocheting and began telling us about winning first place at a recent craft show with an entire nativity she created. John smiled a few minutes later and told me, “you can get cheap symphony tickets because you are a wheelchair user.” We joked again, “I guess there is one perk to having CP.” (A joke only someone with a disability might get away with saying…)

John was completely engaging and delightful. Hubby and I so enjoyed our conversation. Still, my heart was weighty with guilt and questions. I am very aware of the world. I am certain that many would be awkward regarding engaging with John because of the “differences.” Hubby bantered with John while we waited for the symphony to start and I loved that too. Yet while I sat there, the weight of the ease of our life and the realities stayed with me…

Suddenly, the symphony began and there, in person were Sutton and Kelli O Hara. I was in awe…

Sutton Foster seems to be a lifelong dancer. I have memorized some of the clips I have seen, especially with tap dance. She put her tap shoes on, the notes of Anything Goes began and I cried at the beauty. But I think I also cried a bit for so many of us who can’t dance, but nor do we have some of the most simple functions like walking unattended or at all.

It was, an evening full of both/and.

I will never forget any of it – the moments of sitting in a crowd, three (that I could see) of us CP Warriors; the massive sense of gratitude that I have that my affectedness with CP is not more severe, the grief I feel that anyone suffers with disability at all, and the tremendous beauty, and awe at the talent in the world.

I so wanted to tell Sutton Foster what she means to me, but that was not possible. So, dear Sutton, if perhaps this writing finds its’ way to you, thank you for inspiring me. For sharing your gifts, talent in both dance and song and for the joy you bring.

Thank you Jesus for these moments that I am not entitled to, but am gifted with. Thank you for my people who help, understand, love, support and honor the things that matter to me.

Blessed beyond measure.

Both/and

Xoxo

Psalm 16:9

Grit, truth and profound gratitude

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The spring and summer of 2025 have been

a dizzying blend of so much both/and that

even I, who loves both/and, am craving a few

minutes of just one singular feeling…

 

Yet that is not how it works, is it?

Unfortunately, we don’t get to

choose our feelings. Brene Brown

teaches us that we cannot armor

against the difficult feelings AND

get to feel all the blessed ones. We

must be open to it all if we are going

to be open to at all, or if we are going

to armor up, and we only get to feel the good to

that level as well.

 

I never dreamed that when I made the

decision to have a pain pump implanted in February

that I would be still be learning, adjusting and

at times struggling with this new normal in August.

And, I could not have known the growth, gifts,

support and levels of emotional and spiritual intimacy

I would gain because of it.

 

“Has the pump been worth it?” A close friend asked.

With no hesitation, I answered yes

and mean it to my bones.

 

From the test dose and the wonder of relief from the spasticity I have always known, to the kind registrar for the surgery, the new medical knowledge I’ve gained, nurses who are the very grace of God in human form, and getting support from the brilliant and compassionate Dr. Rush,  I’ve seen so much beauty in the journey than I could’ve dreamed, after a lifetime of surgery, medical procedures, trauma and hope.

 

Yes, so worth it…because I believe that once we get the medication leveled out, my quality of life as an adult with cerebral palsy will continue to improve. That is a wonder to me, even in all the frustration of learning to walk again and medication changes that have certainly put my body on a Mach 10 roller coaster in 2025 (so far.) But there is a bigger, better story of grace at play…

 

You see, my beautiful kids and my miraculous husband have been the truest images of God’s love and provision in this season. They have been absolutely fearless, steadfast and full of so much grace and mercy that when I really stop to think about it, I often weep.

 

It is so mind-bendingly difficult to expose our biggest vulnerabilities, even to those we live with and love deeply. I think we all have levels of comfort in this area and levels of “there is no way I will let anyone see me this way, know this about me, expose my true thoughts,” etc. It is so difficult, on many levels to face the fears we carry, let our masks down or really truly give in to being entirely seen.

 

Yet, when you have an outward disability, not only are you entirely exposed, ALL THE TIME, but you must also face asking for help more often, enduring a massive lack of control and having to work so hard to get to the “starting point” that most others arrive at effortlessly.  Please don’t mis-understand, I am not feeling sorry for myself or my fellow CP Warriors. I am simply pulling back the curtain on how the world feels to me.

 

This season has challenged me in more ways than I thought possible. It is virtually impossible to explain what it feels like to be “the same,” but not recognize the feelings in my lower half, especially from my knees down. To feel scared these legs will buckle with each unfamiliar step (and sometimes they do) and not be able to trust or recognize the body I am housed in. It has been vulnerable to say the least.

 

Then there are the moments where I JUST want to be FINE, in front of my kids and husband. Yet, I can’t keep my balance, I don’t know how to use these muscles so I MUST again ask for their help. (There has been so much of all of their beautiful assistance AND so much longing for my independence and not wanting to burden them.)

 

Even in all my insecurity and angst about “wanting to be normal,” they each in their own way, have been the perfect picture of acceptance, never-ending faith, love and trust that I am in awe. There has not been a hint of annoyance, embarrassment, impatience or feeling burdened from any of them. They are each unwavering…and if I see them as a representation of my Jesus, I am leveled.

I love them so….

And I am so, so grateful for their love, devotion, fierce protection and unconditional positive regard.

I am so grateful for the challenges in which I get be the recipient of all that grace, and mercy….

 

I suppose this in part is my grateful love letter to my loves. I don’t have the words or ability to explain what your love means to me. I don’t know how to thank Jesus for every good and perfect gift, even in the midst of pain, halting steps, muscle spasms and fear.

 

It is also my testimony to the intimacy and love of God that I am given in the 50ish years I have loved him. In the days of intense muscle spasms like I’ve never know a few weeks ago, I literally cried, asking him again, to take this disability. I was tired, in pain and scared. I really had so little left to fight with and was at the end of myself.  The way my kids and Matty prayed with and for me, held me, distracted me, sang to me and shared their own faith to lean on was ultimately the way I most experienced Jesus. I don’t know if I can do it justice in these words.

 

What I know for sure in this season is that I am more loved, provided for and seen than I ever thought possible. God is so present in the worst and most beautiful and everything in between. The blessings of Matty and our kids is akin to love in its’s purest form; and I am so very humbled and more myself than I ever have been.

Thank you for praying, encouraging, reading and supporting. I am sure the best is yet to come because I know Jesus is already there.

 

Both/And

xoxo