I'm back.

I wish I had kept up blogging or journaling like I have during past experiences or seasons of my life, but this one was just too exhausting, too busy, and I was too raw to write it all out at the end of each day. I haven’t and won’t share everything–out of the privacy and dignity of the little ones and friends/family involved, I will be leaving names and details of their stories out. However, I will do my best to honor their lives and will always be honest with what I do share.

First, a quick update: 1) I am currently back in the states after having to leave China with only hours notice due to a pandemic in which I thought would swoop in and out in a flash and I would shortly return within a few weeks/month. (HA!) I was so young and naive then. 2) I'm staying with my sister and her family in Denver, CO which I have to say, is one of the better places I could be stranded. I have been hiking and walking and baby snuggling every day and that's something to seriously be grateful for. 3) I don't know my plans for the near future, other than soaking in some much needed family/friend time, and working a whole lot on my heart.

Let this blog entry be the first of hopefully many as I dive into stories of great loss, hope, love, and fight. The stories that took me through the deepest of valleys and tallest of mountains, and the important lessons I learned along the way.

I never knew a person could change so much in 3 years. I think back to who I was in December of 2016 and I can barely remember her. She feels like a distant memory of a person I knew out of a book. Up until that point, a year felt like a blink of an eye. In some ways, the last 3 years feel that way. Though in more ways than one it feels like an entire lifetime. Before 2017 I didn’t know what true grief was. I’d never felt the downward pull of a current dragging me under into a deep void of hopelessness. I’d never known the true ache of missing someone, and I’d never physically felt weakened by stress, torn up by anxiety, and exhausted beyond functioning. I’d also never felt such pure joy, relief that can be felt through your whole body, hope that literally moved my feet forward, or anticipation in all forms.

In just three years I have felt nearly every emotion. I went through several seasons of anger, shame, bitterness, and defeat. I’ve never been so deeply tired. I spent the last three years almost constantly ‘on edge’ waiting for the bombshells of bad news, and worse news. Good news would come unexpectedly and cautiously. Constantly questioning truth and hesitantly allowing full celebration of it.

But man, did we celebrate! In our small community where each one of us had sacrificed much and oftentimes the biggest and most favorite holidays were days that brought fresh tears of missing home. We understood each other and filled voids with giant balloons of confetti, meticulously and beautifully decorated cakes and cookies, thoughtful handmade gifts, games with themes, and special foods made from wish lists and import stores. Flowers and cards and songs in every language, never not giving it our all. We went BIG and we created something even sweeter than we’d ever seen before. Our ‘China framily’ constantly changed, grew, and lost together. We spent nights surrounded by each other on our knees pleading and crying to God. We went on trips and threw parties and cooked and baked and sang together. We fellowshipped on Sundays and worshipped on the roof at night. We shared stories and hugs and made each other laugh. We stood on the front porch and waved goodbye again, and again, and again.

Goodbyes mean something different to me now. Grief means something different. Relief, anger, hope, and sorrow are different: balloons, paper watches, uniforms, the color pink, the sound of a stamp, kiddie-pools, dumplings, sirens, email notifications, roosters, mac & cheese, goldfish, little wheelchairs, building blocks, heart monitors, coughing, seizures, baby dolls, airplanes, MRIs, nail salons, elevators, silence, empty cribs.

I won’t explain the above, as it would be nearly impossible. Each are symbolic to me and trigger memories that are forever embedded into my mind. Some continue to act as triggers and I’m sure some always will. I never knew until the last 3 years what going into shock felt like, what panic and sorrow felt at their cores, what true relief was like when washed over you in an instant, or sudden immobilized fear. I didn’t know the term ‘broken heart’ came from a comparison of feeling as if your chest might literally break in two. I do now. I’ve felt and witnessed all of it time and again, and each of those realities tore me apart, pushed me down, grew me, stretched me, and molded me into who I am today. 3 years and a lifetime later, I am stronger because of it all.

You might be asking yourself, “wow that sounds exhausting, overwhelming and kind of terrible. Why do it?” Great question. I’ve asked myself the same thing several times! Honestly, it was exhausting, overwhelming, and at times terrible. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to truly convey the deepest parts of my heart through words, but I will try my best. Throughout these ramblings of pent up emotion and jumbled thoughts, I hope to answer the very big and important 'why?'.

Was it worth it? More than anything has ever been or ever will be worth it. The most ‘worth it’ 3 years of my life. I would take every devastating moment, every illness, frustration, angry punching bag session, huddled in ball in the corner crying fit, lying flat on my back in defeat hour, and every. single. hot. tear—over and over again.

This is not because I am some sort of higher than average, ‘saintly’ or exceptionally ‘good’ person. This is the result of falling in love. You fall in love with something so fiercely and unconditionally that you would fight for it no matter what. It’s experiencing something so big and so life changing that you can’t go back to who you were before.

People tell me I’m brave. They baffle at my facade of adventurism and boldness. They complement my strength and wonder how I ‘do’ it. The truth is, I’ve never felt brave. I’ve never felt strong, adventurous or bold. I assure you I spent more days than one feeling weak, depressed, unsure of myself and flat out terrified. Someone once told me that being brave isn’t about confidently doing the ‘scary’ thing. It’s being scared out of your mind and doing it anyway. To know there are risks and being terrified to jump in, but diving in anyway. That describes my move to China and every day since.

Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin. -Mother Teresa

I felt passionate about orphan care before I met a child without a family, and I had this deep longing to experience new things and push myself out of my comfort zone to feel deep emotions. I’d always been interested in China and felt I had a connection to the culture and people. I was simply given an opportunity and said ‘yes’. Scared out of my mind, I stood at the edge of the water and jumped in. That was the first big yes, but certainly not the last. I woke up every single morning presented with the question “are you willing to do it again?”. I had to make the choice to say yes, and jump in. Every. Day. I thought jumping in blindly was the scariest jump, but in reality it’s when you know what lies beneath the surface and choose to jump in anyway. Knowing exactly what monsters lie waiting for you. Knowing the pain, disappointment and trauma. It’s the ‘yes’ that you want to say ‘no’ to. The kind that gives you a pit in your stomach and makes you want to step away from the edge and run far away. However, it’s the most important one. “are you willing to do it again?”. It’s the one that I never once regretted. Someday I may be faced with that question again, and though I don’t know what my answer will be, I know I won’t have to ask myself, “will it be worth it?”.

I’ve spoken the words, “we hold everything here with open hands”, more times than I can count. It’s the result of having absolutely zero control over our lives or those around us, and not holding on too tightly because they will surely go away and leave you feeling broken. I've also spoken the words, “beauty through brokenness” and “shout their worth” more times than I can count. The core of the work, the drive that kept me going, and when I’d hit rock bottom, “it’s not okay, but I will be.”

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I’ve decided to write a few more of these blog entries. One on each of the above phrases. To add it all into this one post would be too much for anyone to read in one sitting, and I want to give them all the time and space necessary. Each phrase holds a lot of weight in who I am and what got me to where I am. Each cover different ground;

• Shout Their Worth-advocacy

• Hold Everything With Open Hands-grief

• Beauty Through Brokenness-hope

• It's Not Okay, but I Will Be-healing

I need to break these down, unpack them, and share their contents with you because it’s all been in my heart long enough, and it’s time to open it.

This is my heart, my journey to healing, my story. I’m ready to share it with you.