I said it, I’m writing a nonfiction book, whaaaaaaaat? I’m sure the people who know me irl have all kinds of thoughts about what it’ll be about, hopefully, I’ll surprise you alittle.

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We went to the beach this summer and I spent a lot of time picking up broken seashells. It gave me space to think about beauty and brokenness. When we came home from the hospital this week, my boy dropped his pizza right on top of the discharge papers, and he felt terrible. It wasn’t a big deal.


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Those two things sort of summarized what I want this new venture to encapsulate. Mistakes, brokenness, beauty.

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This year has been trying in all new ways for our family. I want to give a quick rundown, and in no way do I do it as a pity party, a woe is us, or anything of the like. I simply do it to give the background of where I am coming from at this moment.


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November/December ’17: our boy struggled with serious depression and needed medication changes.
January/February ’18: our other boy went down a dark path of depression and self-harm.
February: husband found out his position at work (our church home) would end in May.
March/April: looking for a new job and dealing with a lot of drama with soon to be previousemployer.
May: our beloved senior pup passed away suddenly. The dog that slept everynight with mentally fragile boys.
May: new job starts.
June: We take our boy off meds that have started giving him increased aggression. We take a break for the entire month which brings out other behavioral issues that are less scary to handle but a full-time job.
June: I start having pain in my breast.
July: we wait to find out if I have cancer
August: I don’t have cancer!
August: our boy has a major ear infection before having eye surgery. The eye surgery has a complication that requires weekly visits to the eye doctor.
August: publish and un-publish the paperback of my book after printing errors.
August: our boy has a grand mal seizure on the bus coming home from school.
May/August: we have no home church.


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This is what I’m processing. This is what I’m writing about. It’s going to getmessy and I’m not apologizing for it.