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He Carried Us

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  During the Stations of the Cross, it's easy to picture Jesus carrying a heavy wooden cross. I've pictured that scene countless times. The weight. The pain. The surrender. But recently I heard Fr. Jonathan Meyer (a priest from Indiana I follow online) describe something from a live Stations of the Cross that made me look at the Cross in a new way. As they reenacted Jesus carrying the Cross, one person carried another person on his shoulders rather than carrying the wooden cross. He said people were moved because they didn't just see a person being carried. They saw their own crosses— the suffering of the people they love, the brokenness of the world around them, and the burdens they carry every day. Then he asked a question that I couldn't stop thinking about.  What if Jesus wasn't just carrying the Cross?  What if, in a way I'll never fully understand, He was carrying all of us? He carried our sins. Our grief. Our fears. Our illnesses. Our betrayals.  Our lone...
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Rediscovering Me

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For years, meeting new people came with a little (a lot) of anxiety. The conversations usually started out simple enough. "How many kids do you have?" "How old are they?" But with a bunch of kids, autism, Down syndrome, therapies, and a life that looked different from most families, my answers were rarely simple. On the drive home, I would replay every word. Did I say too much? Did I scare them away? Did they wish they hadn't asked? I don't think I even realized how much energy I spent trying to make my story easier for other people to understand. Recently, I found myself sitting around a table laughing with a group of women I hadn't known three years ago. At some point during the conversation, something caught me by surprise. I wasn't trying to figure out how to fit in.  Looking around at these women, I noticed I wasn't spending the evening worrying about what to say next. I wasn't wondering whether I was talking too much or too little. I wa...
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The Gift of Being Wrong

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I've been wrong about a lot of things. Big things. At one time or another, I was certain I knew how my life was supposed to unfold. The things I was sure would happen. The things I was afraid would happen. The things I thought I had figured out.  Looking back, some of the greatest blessings in my life came disguised as disappointments, detours, and diagnoses.  More than once, I looked at a situation and thought I already knew how the story would end. More than once, God proved me wrong. Recently, I've been reading old blog posts and wondering how we survived. The surgeries. The diagnoses. The therapies. The waiting rooms. The crises that seemed to pile on before we'd recovered from the last one.  Reading those words now, I honestly don't know how we carried the weight of it all. Maybe we didn't. Maybe God carried us. We often ask God to change our circumstances. Sometimes He changes our understanding instead. One of the things I've learned about God is that He r...
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Feeling a Bit Lost in a "Perfect" World—14 Years Later

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Fourteen years ago, I wrote a blog post called Feeling a Bit Lost in a "Perfect" World . I recently read that post again for the first time in years. As I read it, I didn't want to change a word.  She wrote honestly about what she knew then. And she was right. She just wasn't finished. If I could sit down with the younger version of myself today, I don't think I'd have all the answers for her. But there are a few things I'd want her to know.  She couldn't have known then that acceptance isn't a place you arrive. It's something that keeps growing, quietly, often without you even noticing.  I'd tell her that joy and grief aren't opposites. Sometimes they sit side by side at the same kitchen table.  One day she'll understand that. She'll grieve leaving Indiana and the home and life we've built there. At the very same time, she'll receive the priceless gift of helping care for my mom during the last year and a half of her li...
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He Was Already There

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There are certain hymns I've sung hundreds of times. Maybe thousands. Most Sundays, I sing them without giving much thought to the lyrics. They are familiar companions, woven into the sanctity of the Mass. But every now and then, a line catches me off guard. I'll be standing in the pew singing words I've known for years when my eyes begin to sting. A tear slips down my cheek, my voice catches, and I find myself wondering why this song feels different today. The words haven't changed.  I have.  There were seasons God felt far away. Looking back, I don't believe He ever was.  One of those hymns is Be Not Afraid , a song built around the promise that God goes before us. The tears that sometimes come during Be Not Afraid aren't necessarily born of sadness or joy.  I think sometimes they're what happens when your heart recognizes a truth before your mind has fully put words around it.  You hear:  I go before you always. And suddenly you're not hearing a lyri...
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Ordinary Holiness

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Years ago, we were sitting under the grandstands at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway eating fried chicken during practice for the Indy 500 when an older man stopped to say hello to Lily. Lily was sitting a few feet away from us in her wheelchair. She was playing on her iPad with one hand pressed against her ear, her shoulders hunched, avoiding eye contact and ignoring everyone. Because she's often like this in public, it's rare for people to interact with her.   Moving over to them, I prompted Lily to say hi. She looked up at the man, who looked a little like her Grumpa, and softly said, "Hi," and then held out her hand for the man to hold.  He first grasped her hand lightly and then offered up a fist bump. Lily decided she'd do a high five instead, and this made the man smile. He leaned over to me and said with a strong catch in his voice, "Our daughter was just like her." Then he turned and headed over to the elevator, up to his suite to watch some race...
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Love in The Repetition

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My husband's family says "I love you" all the time. My family didn't. That's not because my parents didn't love me. I never doubted that they did. They just expressed it differently.  My mom's love was impossible to miss. She always seemed to know what to say when I was anxious, uncertain, or overwhelmed by a situation. I think her advice mattered so much because it came from someone who consistently lived what she taught. She was the one I went to with worries, questions, and the everyday things that felt big when I was young. I felt safe just being near her and was deeply attached to her. My mom may have rarely said "I love you," but I heard it every day. Throughout my life, my mom always dropped everything when I needed her most. At my children's births, she was right there beside me. She helped Matt and me navigate C-sections, the twins’ NICU stay, and Lily’s Down syndrome diagnosis. She grieved with me during difficult times, but never l...
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