Who We Are

Church leadership advises or asks us to not attend services at the campus we led; they do offer, in a conciliatory way, to attend services at another campus. This proposition is not readily accepted by Kevin or I, as he can barely hold his head above water when around others. Friends ask if we want Harper and Elijah to attend the kid’s program, the same program they had both been attending since birth. The same children’s ministry I had covered when we were down on volunteers, even though, I for the most part, had really never enjoyed being around children. I decline, as my realization of how to move forward in this impossible situation is murky, and I have to plug the hemmorrhage of suffering and confusion for the kids. A voice of reason is in me, but the roof is only over the kids and Kevin. All I do is cry. Then sob. I try to ask questions, to myself, and then to Kevin, but we are both caged animals, trapped under a magnifying lens, beaming a consistent concentration of immeasurable...

Six years ago, I listened to a doctor tell me my baby had hydrops. But, I didn’t know what that meant really.   It meant that a writhing 48 hours later we would lose our little girl. I was seven months pregnant.  My niece and I were one week apart with our babies. I had friends who were pregnant with me.  It was my first pregnancy, and I had no idea what was happening.  So, when there were problems or differences, I just thought, I will deal with it and fix them, like I always do. There was no fixing her. The onset of knowledge of the additional fluid and the loss of Camille was ten days apart. Ten days of tragic loss, coupled with a rebounding life, when we thought she just had Down Syndrome. She would be fine and we would love her and help her live her best life.  God had other plans. She would have struggled; requiring two surgeries immediately after birth. Her tummy and her heart. I had to beg a specialist doctor to see me and ...

All of the layers begin to unfold as we trudge on, after leaving the stage, we walk 20 feet over to our house, I don’t remember what we did. Many of our close friends come to us offering love and support. They come over and over again. The church would hold a healing service later on that evening that Kevin and I have no clue about, even though we are the reason for it. We are not invited to participate, and only find out later through friends saying how much meaning and comfort it brought them. I smile and nod, distancing myself emotionally from the absolute uprooted nature of my relationship with the church. How strange, to be a central part of something, and then not, and then be shut out of a process of healing. I stand outside of this process, intentionally or not, and feel very still. This stillness is not peace or understanding but a universal effort to keep both feet on the ground as the world has in no way stopped to accommodate me.  Everything in our lives to...

The most still spaces in a mind and heart often seem the most threatening; the threat of valuing hope, in spite of failure, the threat of remaining still, and at the same time, draped in vulnerability to a past that continues to knock at our door, unravels and unsettles. Yet, the still remains, inviting us to move forward, despite an overabundance of feeling like we are rather unqualified to enter that said race onward.  I sit there, in the wooden pew, allowing the hardness of the room to enter my body. I am visiting Michigan, for the first time, as Kevin has decided to take on a Youth Pastor position in Flint. We have not yet married, but we are engaged, I am in between spaces in my mind but the physical presence of the church sanctuary wallops over me with dated artifacts. Someone had invited me to sit in the front row of these impossibly wooden pews, I smile, nod and decline. I am in no way someone special, and would feel quite disingenuous if I inclined. I fold int...