2024 flew on by and I never posted. 2025 is more than halfway gone, and my fingers have finally started to itch for the keys. I have wanted to write so much this year, but it hasn’t ranked high enough on the list for it to get done. I’m rusty.
2024 was a tough year. From summer on, we struggled with keeping the kids healthy. Nate had Salmonella, broken bones ( each kid took a turn wearing a cast!), endless colds, severe stomachaches that debilitated my daughter for almost a year, as we searched tirelessly for the source. There were so many late nights where Eric and I found ourselves trying to motivate one another to get through one more day. In hindsight, I can see how God was faithful, aligning different people in our paths for guidance, but gosh was it difficult.
Deep life reflection 😂
Walking in faith seems easy when everything is moving along, yet so out of reach when you’re in the thick of it. I wonder how our Father sees everything from his perspective, encouraging us, whispering gently, never overbearing, allowing us the freedom to choose. Excited that he knows what is in store at the end, empathetic as we navigate life, hoping we hold space long enough to hear him and rest on his promises.
Wind tunnel in Cintra
As 2025 started, we confessed health over all of us, God’s goodness and favor. We prayed that we would slow down, and really take in the time we have with one another. I am happy to report, we have only had one fracture this year, ok, maybe 2 as we wait to hear whether or not Nate’s nose is broken from a head collision during a soccer tournament. He says it was worth the championship!
PSC champions ⚽️
I am thankful for the slowdown we have been able to embrace this summer ☀️ I am working on building character, setting my foundation on Him, for He is my family’s rock on which we choose to stand, come what may.
I’m actually a little embarrassed. My own page did not recognize me and had me go through all these loopholes to verify my identity. Once in, my jaw literally dropped when it said the last published post was from July of 2019! No! I gasped. Lately, well, more like the last year, I have written about 20 entries but I have failed to publish them.
Self portrait by Nathan
Hmm. I know, that’s what I said, too. Needless to say, this year has been such a rollercoaster and a blur. I think I had decided what I wanted to actively pursue, once Elea began to get use to staying at her pre-school. I was loving their schools (they both attended different schools last year), and I was ready to start a new season. And then, life as we knew it stopped.
Big kid morning rides
I remember that morning like it was yesterday. It was Wednesday, March 11th. My sister had a newborn at home and I had been doing some grocery shopping for her every couple weeks. I was heading over to Costco to stock her up on her toiletries. One of my very best friends was heading over to Costco herself, so we decided to have a date and meet up for coffee, which would be followed by our Costco shopping. Unbeknownst to us, that Costco trip will never be forgotten. It marked the beginning of COVID for me. It showed me what can happen to kind, normal, level headed human beings, when you do not know what the next day will look like.
America
My cart was taken 3 times, I was pushed and shoved by adults, there were toddlers crying out for their parents as people shoved them away from their guardians, food was being taken from carts that had owners, all the toiletries, including baby essentials, were being taken off the shelves and stocked piled by what felt like out of this world aggressors. I have not felt that afraid since I was a child in elementary school (different story).
Mother’s Day gift from Nathan
I left and didn’t return to Costco. It was a very unsettling feeling. What was happening and were the stores running out of food? Did I miss something on the news? Were we being invaded and never allowed to go to the store again? I lost my friend in the store. We were separated. We called and checked in. She was fine and I was fine. I sat in my car and cried. I was shaking so much I couldn’t even turn on the car. As an adult, I felt helpless to be unable to get something so simple done. I did my breathing exercises and calmed my heart, which felt like it was going to jump right out of my chest.
New Year Day 2020
It was very early. We did not understand what was happening. COVID was just like a cold. COVID was not like a cold. COVID was being used by politicians. COVID was…causing fear. The unknown. I had been following some of the stories about COVID before it was widely known and I was scared. I did not understand what it was and all the confusion around it. But did I need to worry? No one was worried in America. No one was really talking about it. It was a foreign problem. Or so, I was unconsciously thinking this way.
Quarantine beach days
It has been 5 months and 2 days since my family started quarantining. The worries are different every day. Some days are easier than others, and sometimes I look forward to bed time so I can sit in silence and tackle my worries one at a time. But then I am reminded by our good, good, Father- He has got this. This does not look like the year I had in mind. I definitely did not anticipate having to teach every day for months, unable to get alone time exceeding the seconds it takes to use the restroom (even then I normally have a guest watching me!). BUT there has been so much goodness come out of these months. They may not be as clear as we would like them to be, but they are present.
Bed time snuggles under the pillow fort kid made bed
I choose to be optimistic. I choose to trust my Father because He has always been there. Every step of the way. In the darkest moments and in my most elated moments. He has given me breath, after breath, even when I thought I could not take the next one. Life is unpredictable, to say the least, but He is faithful. And even if you don’t believe it, and you can’t see it, He works everything for good. Every. Single. Time.
There is a sense of responsibility I have, for you, my reader. I have been told I am a good story-teller ( live, that is). I think Lei gets her facial expressions from me. I can’t hide my emotions very well, and so, when story telling I can be extremely vivid. I very much love making people burst into laughter. I really enjoy making people feel good. It makes me happy. But this week, I have been struggling. Big time.
Every so often I find myself giving myself pep talks. You see, where as I am a strong advocate of choosing joy, it is not always the natural choice. I remind myself of all the goodness. The little miracles I see. But sometimes it does not suffice. I am left feeling cheated.
My birth anniversary is next week and instead of feeling excitement and celebration flutter, I find myself feeling bamboozled. And it is ok. It if perfectly normal, and justified, for me to feel cheated. I shared my entire life with my mother, and now I don’t get to share it with her at all. I would tell my mom the silliest things that happened to me, because for some reason, funny and weird things happen to me all the time. And she would laugh, a lot, or tell me in her serious voice that she couldn’t believe it, ” Ay no, Lita.” I don’t know whether she believed me all the time, because sometimes I would act it out so dramatically that I would burst into laughing spells. I thoroughly enjoyed hearing my mother laugh out loud.
We had a terrible heat wave earlier this week in Los Angeles. It was HOT. Miserably hot. And as I drove into the garage from Lei’s school, I found myself picking up my phone to dial my Mom. I was going to tell her how miserable I felt and how the heat wasn’t helping. I parked, turned the engine off, and cried. It’s incredible how you notice every void left behind. It is even more incredible to see how much of my life was filled by the joy my mother gave me. Her constant words of encouragement and the words that stung when spoken.
Love
It is hard for my heart to understand how life keeps moving when such a huge part of it is gone. I wish I could say it is easier this time around. I was recently asked how I do it. How do I keep moving forward? I wish I had an answer for you. I wish I could tell you that I simply eat a lot of kale and that makes it happen for me. Jesus helps me a lot. A lot, a lot ( as Lei would say). I find it so filling to list all the things I am hurt by, disappointed by, and am completely angry about and to let Jesus know. I tell him what I feel (the days I can muster words) and let him know that I am angry and that I don’t think I can get it together that day. So I carry the anger, the hurt, the pain around for as long as I think I can carry it and then I hand it over to him. I find Him much better at dealing with all the baggage. He always takes it, but I pick it up again.
Papa and Lei
At the beginning of the post I wrote about honesty and responsibility. This is my point in this round about post, I have hardly felt ok the past 5 months. I work extremely hard on smiling every day and choosing joy. I have reminders on my phone, in the bathroom mirror, and in every corner of my brain. Reminders that I can and will feel joy come to me without so much work. I have to remind myself to be gentle and kind with myself. To embrace every emotion and not stuff it in the closet. I am a work in progress and my brokeness is being molded. Whatever your brokeness may be, I hope you know you can face it all with Jesus. He takes baby steps, I should know, because He is taking them with me, again. This season will have its end.
A week ago, anticipating today, I sat in my living room having a moment. I ran through every detail to ensure I still remembered. I ran my fingers up and down Emme’s c-section scar ensuring it was real. Sometimes it doesn’t feel real. Sometimes it feels like she’s going to run in and say something silly, as any 3 year old would. I thought about what she’d want her birthday theme to be. I thought about how I would, as always, plan for a small party but end up with a carnival.
Loss. It felt so heavy.
And then Life knocked at my door. As I cried in silence unable to open her box to inhale her smell again, to touch the hair the NICU nurses so gently packed for me, to fold and re-fold the baby clothes she wore for such a short period of time, I heard Nate’s butterfly begin to bat her wings, practicing as she broke through her chrysalis and embraced her new body. Charlie (our almost 2 year old turtle) began to chirp. I could hear the birds outside. In my sorrow, I heard life. There are no words to describe what I felt, but in that moment it was as if I was being told that life was blooming all around me, everywhere, all I had to do was silence my heart and listen.
The chrysalis
The anticipation of Easter has been hard the last couple years. I always felt so betrayed by it. Here comes spring and everything is blooming and there I am, mourning. I will never stop mourning; feeling extremely sad that I wasn’t able to live my life the way I would have liked with Emme. But this year I see life. I see it breaking through. The heaviness surrounds me but it’s not hopeless. No, it is not hopeless.
A couple days ago I was leaving my my sister’s place when she noticed that my tire was completely flat. My immediate response was, “oh, that tire is kinda funny, it’s always a little flat.” My sister looked at me like I was crazy, so I walked over to look at the tire. She proceeded with directions: I was to go directly to the nearest gas station and get it taken care of. I obliged. I got out of the car, pulled Elea out of her car seat and proceeded to go inside to pay for the air. I thought I was putting air in the tire but the tire wasn’t looking any better. I re-read the instructions and kept trying. After no success I finally reached inside to grab my phone to call Eric, only to realize I had no phone. So, I looked around and approached the kindest looking person, an older gentleman who I later realized was living out of his car. He walked over and said he would be more than happy to help me. The problem was simple: I never pushed the ON button. He filled the tire and then taught me how to do it. He expressed concern over my safety with such a flat tire and then went on to grab his own meter to show me what I should expect my tire to read every time (the one provided by the gas station was broken).
Although it felt like it took me 5 minutes to do all this, I was actually at the gas station for almost an hour. As I drove home, I processed the risk of the flat tire and although I knew the car was driving funny, I was completely unaware. And even when my sister was trying to point it out to me, I wasn’t really concerned until I saw how the tire looked post air. My tire pressure light had been on and I still didn’t take the time to look at it, or at least to make sure it wasn’t bad. It is a lot like my gasoline habit. I can get down to zero miles but it doesn’t make me nervous. I know, because I read somewhere (please don’t trust this), that when your car says 0 miles it really can go an additional 20 miles before it leaves you stranded. I have never been stranded but have come pretty close to getting a panic attack, when lost, running low on gas, phone is dead, and am in a completely unknown place (happened to me in December). Yet, I do it again and again.
So, as I processed this issue and my overwhelming amount of trust in my car, I saw a recurring theme. I am capable of trusting wholeheartedly. No problem. But most recently I have found myself teetering between believing whole heartedly in something I know can be done and surrendering hope. Like a tire needing air, I was infused multiple times this past week with unbelievable confirmation that hope is not lost. You see Faith is amazing, but no one said it would be easy. In the midst of the storm, you have to find peace and hold on to it. And while there, you’ll see the beauty of believing. Be the tire that gets infused with hope and faith, because our Father is your rim. So even if you are left without air (or gas), you will keep going even if you wobble through, the rim will keep you upright until you can get infused once again.
XO
P.S. try not to go without air in your tires and/or gas. Trusting in your car is not nearly as good as trusting in God. Whereas eventually I will get stranded, God will never let me down.
Nathan’s preschool teacher has been sick the entire week and thus we’ve had substitutes every day. I walked into his classroom today hoping she was back, but instead the air was knocked out of me. My hands began to shake the way they do when I have too much caffeine. I squeezed Elea closer to my chest and hoped no one could see the sweat that was starting to form as my body burned. In a blink of an eye, it was Spring 2014. My knees shook and it took all the strength I could muster up to keep me from falling over.
Nathan’s substitute for the day was his old teacher, the teacher that held my hand through emails and gentle questions. She encouraged me at a hopeless time. When Emme passed, the last thing I wanted to do was take Nathan to all his classes. I felt ashamed. I felt as though I had failed my daughter. My body had failed to be a safe home for her. I had failed at giving her life. And although I know this is all wrong and completely false, these feelings overpowered me for a long time. I felt worthless.
His teacher emailed me and every time I had the courage to come to class, she always greeted me and Nathan with love. I remember trying to pick up where I left off because Nathan needed his mother, but every time I walked into his school, all I could think about were the things everyone else was thinking. Feeling sorry for me and avoiding me. I now understand that they avoided me because there was nothing good enough to say to a grieving mother whose eyes looked like they were on a short pause from crying. Those days were shattering for me. But I never forgot her because every time I walked in there, it was like she knew and she held my hand through the rest of the school year.
This morning, our eyes met and I knew she remembered. We talked about Nathan but neither one of us had the courage to go back. I wanted nothing more than to give her a big hug and let her know how vital she was to my survival, but I couldn’t. My voice immediately cracked, my eyes filled and my body weakened. I couldn’t say thank you.
I’m not beating myself up about it. Like I have said before, grief is like the ocean waves, you never know which wave will knock you down, but you must get up, over and over again. I truly hope she knows what a beautiful person she is and how her kindness still inspires me. And next time, I hope I can get a step closer to telling her.
Confessions of a Wife, Mother & Cook 