Messy

I've been thinking a lot about this Blog and what it's named. Been thinking about Art and Life and all that jazz.

The other day my amazing Husband picked me up some gesso from the store so I could re-paint a few things. As I was using it, little bits of paint splattered onto my hand, and then got wiped onto my sleeve. I was struck by the thought that I don't have a pair of paint pants right now...and I got sad.

Art can be so messy. I love when it is. I love when there are flecks of paint on my nails and on my clothes. I love the process of art. I love that you start with something and work until you create something new and unique that you like. It's a lot of fun.

So often when people look at a piece of art they see the finished piece. Something whole. Put together. They consider it beautiful. As they should, art is meant to be looked at and enjoyed.

When I look at pieces of artwork, I see the love and the process behind it. I wonder at the hours it took to make something, the work that went into it, the layers and layers of paint. I wonder if the artist thought about scrapping a project entirely and starting again. I wonder if they ever hated a piece only to have loads of people beg them to leave it alone.

Art is a messy, beautiful process.

Life is a messy, beautiful process.

God Art.

I wonder if He looks down at our lives and loves our messy beautiful selves. I wonder if He knows we are works in progress and cringes sometimes while He works on us.

It's a quickly going to be a new year.

I'll be honest, I'm not looking forward to it.

I'm not looking forward to the fight my son will have. I'm not looking forward to leaving my girl while I go to have him. I'm not looking forward to it, I'm just not.

I'm looking forward to finding out how God will move. I'm looking forward to finding out how close Blair and I will come through this.

If I look at this past year as a canvas, as an art project, I would paint over parts and start again. I would paint over the loss of yet another baby we didn't get to know. I would paint over the days this summer where I could barely make it to the bathroom before getting sick. I would paint over the day that I went to have an ultrasound and they "found" something...when I was alone in my car, crying because I didn't understand and didn't know who to call or what to do.

Here's the deal though, just because you paint over something, doesn't mean it goes away. Those layers will always be there. It will always be part of that painting.

I'm marveling that despite my messes, despite the long process, I am still becoming God's Art. I am still a masterpiece. He loves me, right here, right now. Even on my worst days (and believe me, days when I have to call a friend to come change my girl because I literally can't stop throwing up...that's a worst day).

It's important to remember I think. That Art is Messy. That even God's Art gets messy.

That I am still a Mess.

But with every day, with every brush of the Savior's paint brush I become more and more beautiful.

Almost There

This summer, I've been stretched in ways I never thought possible. Being a mother is single handedly the hardest and best thing I have ever done. It has made me realize how incredible God is, and how much I need help. It also made me realize how much I need time to myself. Sometimes taking a shower is the best thing that ever happened in the whole world.

I've thought a lot about some things I really want to share with people. I think, more than anything, it comes to this: it amazing to be around people who know my heart.

For as long as I can remember this is what I've wanted. Last night, Ellie decided sleep was not what she wanted or needed, so I was rocking and singing to Itty Bitty, talking to Blair. I said "Sometimes, I don't think you understand the gift you've given me." Even at four in the morning, with only cat naps to go on, I remembered that this is what I've wanted my whole life. I've wanted to be a Mommy, I've wanted to be a Wife, I wanted the four AM feedings, the diaper changes, and that sweet smile Ellie has while she nurses so close to my heart.

A lot of the people in my life know this. I got a hug from a great friend at camp and she whispered to me "I'm glad you have your dream." (I'm glad she is getting hers as well.) I would not say I'm where I want to be in life, by no means have I "arrived". But I'm so much closer. So so so much closer.

Thank you. Thank you to the friends who stood by me when I became enamored with my first my husband, then my daughter. Thank you to the friends who know that my life is different now. Thank you to the friends who knew that I would not be as available as I used to be. Thank you to you all, because I'm still me, and I needed support.

I love Blair. I love my Ellie girl. I love this stupid little room where we live for right now. I don't always mind four am any more, and I realize that I will probably not sleep through the night for a long long long time. I am learning what is worth saying to my husband and what I need to keep to myself. I am learning how to balance time with a baby who depends solely on me for food and comfort, with a husband who is still very very very much in love with me. I am learning to still love my body, despite wider hips and a flabbier belly and less time to devote to working out. I am learning how to find God is quiet moments, how to pray instead of just thinking, how to glorify him in everything, still. I am learning.

I'm almost there. I feel almost there. This is a life I wanted so badly that I can't even imagine how it could even be better. It's hard and sloppy, I have been pooped, peed, and vomited on, and it's great. It's honestly great. Because seeing her smile makes four am less lonely and all the sudden, it's the best time in the world.

Thank you. To those who know what Ellie means to my life, who know how filled I am with joy, thank you.

What's In A Name...

I think it's funny how when you are younger, you pick alllll sorts of names for your future children. You make lists and plans and forget all about the fact that you will be having a baby WITH someone and they might have some ideas of their own...

I've been thinking a lot about Eleanor's name. About why we chose and the people who influenced it. Honestly, I was convinced we were having a boy, so NOT seeing those little boy parts made my jaw drop, literally. We had joked the whole way there that the tech would tell us we were having a girl and not a boy, lo and behold...how jokes became truth.

On the drive home, giddy with news and excitement, we started talking names.

I'm not sure what it is, but this became a very big deal for me. Naming someone...well, it's their name. It's your name. You have it for the rest of your life. It's a big deal. I wanted her name to mean something, to stand for something. I wanted to name her after people and things that were heavy, big, important, and just for her.

Blair is really the one who named our girl. More than me. We hadn't ever talked about using two middle names, but in the end, that's how it worked out. I'm ok with it (shoot, her four cousins ALL have two middle names...I would list them, but that....that would take a lot of time...) (Love you Nate and Lori!). As we sat and talked and threw names out, Blair says,

"What about Eleanor Amanda Ray?"

Believe me or don't, but in that moment, I knew what her name was. I knew that was who she was. I knew that these were the people that I wanted to influence her life. 

Eleanor, for Eleanor Roosevelt, a great a lady. She said once "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." Brilliant. Blair also just loves the name, and I was sold because I could shorten it to Ellie. I'm convinced that I want ALL my baby girls to have nick names that end in "ie" just like their Momma. It's a thing, just accept it. :) ALSO, Eleanor is the real name of the character Ella, in the book Ella Enchanted. Note, this is in reference to the BOOK and NOT the MOVIE which was a train wreck which ruined a literary masterpiece. 

We're nerdy. I want all of our babies to have some sort of book attached to their names as well. I do. And I love it. 

Now we come to the Amanda. After the two Amanda's in my life...

Every now and again, we are blessed with people who understand us and who truly want the best for us. My two best friends have been through a lot, and helped me through a lot as well. We have fought and been angry at one another, we have misunderstood one another, and we have gone through long periods where one of us couldn't speak to the other. I have seen them both at their worst and at their best and I love them. Whole heartedly. They are...some of the best people I know. I never thought...I didn't think I would ever name a baby after either of them, but when Blair suggested it, it made perfect and wonderful sense. 

I want Ellie to know what it means to be strong. I want her to know what it means to respect others who are different than you, who grew up differently. I want her to know what it's like to make friends with people who may not believe what you do, but who love love love you and support you. Both of my Amanda's are this type of person in my life. I can't...I can't begin to tell you how they've impacted my life. They've left foot prints on the map in my heart and they are tattooed there, forever, as people who I have to be close to. Even if we end up on the other side of the country, we will still be close, because I hold them close. 

My husband is a brilliant man, for knowing just how much these two people mean to me, and allowing me to name our daughter after two people who I hope and pray will always be part of my little girl's life. 

Ray. 

Ray is...Ray is a weighty name. I might cry while I tell you about this name, because I'm hormonal and Beauty and the Beast and Harry Potter made me cry last night...

This past December, my family watched as my mother's father went from home to another. It was hard. We love him and to see him such a state...it was hard. I knew I was pregnant at the time, and this was at the beginning, with all the sickness. The last time I saw my Papaw, he could barely speak, and barely move. I said good bye and that I loved him, and he pointed to me and said "I love you." And then he gave me and my daughter a gift that I will treasure forever, he pointed to my barely showing belly and said "I love you too." I might have told this story here before, but I don't care. Like Mary, I hold it close to my heart and store it there as a treasure. 

When he finally got to leave this world, Blair and I decided that in some way, we would honor him with our new little life, the first great grandchild who doesn't get to meet Papaw. His name was Raymond, and for our little girl, we shortened it to Ray. 

One of the coolest things about the name Ray though, is that it's not JUST for my Papaw. My Mother, probably one of the best people I'll ever know,  also has his name for her middle name, Pamela Ray. Add to that my big brother Nate, my twin just born a few years ahead of me (We are so so so alike...) who was named after both his grandparents, Guy Raymond. 

I love my family, and the friends who have slowly become part of that family. I have been blessed to be loved by so many people, and my daughter will also be blessed to be loved by so many 

9.5

I don't think that you should force creativity. I think sometimes, you'll feel more creative than other times. It's a stage, and it all comes and goes in stages.

Lately, I've wanted to draw and paint and sketch and play and doodle and and and all the things. There was only one problem, sometime in our move from tiny apartment to tinier apartment in his parent's house, I lost/misplaced a journal.

This had never happened before. I wasn't sure how to handle it. I panicked, maybe cried, maybe made my husband drive me around to several places to see if I had left it somewhere else. I love my art journals. I've been keeping them since I was probably 12 or 13...I have stacks of them. I re-read them, see how my life has changed and been documented. So to lose one, to not know where it is...it's like...it's like loosing someone you love. Not to mention, when we lost our baby last July, I journal'd a lot to get through that. It's...it's a heavy journal. It's one I need to remind myself that I got through it. I follows this ocean tide of happiness and sadness and eventually, hope that I would carry as far as I am right now with Ellie.

And I don't know where it is. I still don't. 

But...but, I've come to terms that it just needs to be hidden right now, for whatever reason. This did not change the burning fury in me to creative and doodle.

This week I was at a friends house, well, this past week. As I'm sitting and talking to my friend, I see a fairly large black journal. Without asking whose it is, I take it and begin to draw what's been in my head for weeks (a Dandelion...), and from there, it was allllll good. It turns out the journal belonged to my friends husband, who knew I had lost the other journal so he says "Take this one."

Flabbergasted, I informed him that if he gave it to me, I would NOT be giving it back. It just...I wouldn't. It would become mine, but he knew that.

So here I am now with journal 9.5.

And a big huge heart full of thank you to D.J. Trevor for knowing me better than I know myself. I found that I can't go without an art journal. I need it. It's my way to keep in touch with the art that I love so well and to express the things that I can't otherwise.

I'm incredibly thankful that I have friends who know me better than I know myself. I'd be a hot mess without them....

The Art of Loss: The Stories We Hold Near And Dear

Here's what happens to me sometimes, I get these ideas. And they are ideas that are so far from what I think I know that they were planted there by someone else, who wants me to do whatever that idea is. Let me preface this blog post by telling you I've been thinking about and dreading it all morning. I tend to share a lot, people tell me its a gift, I think people are annoyed and want me to shut up about my feelings. Most of the time. Every now and again though, I realize that maybe someone else needs to hear my stories. Maybe they need validation, or strength, or just to know they aren't alone. We praise those who step up and step out and speak their minds, right?

What I want to share today is deeply personal. It's my Art. From a very painful time in my life. It hurts, and it feels weird, like I'm inviting people to look straight into what God only sees. It deeply rooted in my faith, and centers all around the dates June 25 and July 20. It has to do with infant loss, miscarriage, what happened in my heart after that. It's my story, and no one's will be the same. Keep that in mind. Know that this is a hard issue, for many woman, and I can't for the life of me figure out why I need to write about this now, when I'm almost 18 weeks pregnant with our second child. Lord willing the first baby we hold in our arms, but yes, our second child.

I found out I was pregnant June 25 2013, while serving at a summer camp. The day I found out, I made this in one of my art journals.

I express myself a lot through art, it's just the way things go for me. I need it, even during the times when i don't think I do. I remember one summer when I worked at a camp, we had a Bible Study based on art and our faith. We were given two sheets and asked to fill them, however we wanted, with a hard time in our life, and with where we were now. We were then asked to get in small groups and talk about our art. I ended up in a group with two beautiful humans who...understood when I started sobbing and couldn't explain. It was like my very soul on display. Talking about it...I couldn't. This just goes to show you that sharing these journal pages with you all, though it is not easy, is something I feel very compelled to do.

In the weeks that followed, I made more art for our little growing baby nugget.

 I don't think that any person prepares for what they never expect to happen. I knew woman lost babies, I knew miscarriage happened, it just...wasn't going to happen to me. But the truth is that it did. On July 20 2013 I was in an airplane with one the best young adult woman I have ever known, on our way home from a conference. I got up multiple times to use the bathroom, and there is where this terrible awful reality came to fruition. While on the plane, I pulled out my journal, and wrote this.

 What is says doesn't matter. Just know that in that moment, I needed to process what was happening to me. It was the hardest traveling day of my life. It's a terrible thing, when you want to save someone and can't do anything about it. I got home, my husband was gone for the week still. I called my best friend and she...was phenomenal. What she did for me that night I will never be able to replay. Never. Not...never.

In the weeks and months that followed I sank into this place of despair and to be very honest, doubt. How could this happen? Why did He, God, let babies die? What was the purpose of this? Didn't people tell me that He wouldn't give me more than I could handle? I couldn't handle this, I thought, they all lied to me. I accepted this water down concept that He said things would be easy. Never did. Not once.

So I did what I knew how to do, I made Art. I sketched and made cards for people. I stayed up late painting and drawing and creating. I cleaned and cried. I hurt. I called people and I begged them to give me answers they didn't have.

The biggest thing though, was that I felt like my faith had just run out. As though, I was Peter, out there in the ocean, holding my hand out to a Savior, knowing, knowing, that He could save me. In that split second that it takes for Jesus to reach out His hand, it can feel like eternity. It feels like you are just drowning. I would cry and think, "What if I'm just like Peter? Where is my faith now?"

 I listened to music on a CD that an amazing woman sent me. I particularly wore out the song "Doubting Thomas" by Nickel Creek. Over and over it played in my mind and my heart. If you know me, you know I have very strong beliefs, and I'm not afraid to tell people about them. It's part of who I am. This once though, I couldn't see, and I didn't know what to think. Me and God...Oh man...it's a good thing He forgives like He does.

 I felt like a fool, and it all hurt so much. And I couldn't...losing our baby like that affected me in ways that I never thought possible. I continued to draw and paint and craft my way through the woods.

 It took me a long time to be able to be in Church without crying. It took me a long time to be able to say, "I lost a baby." It took me a long time to be ok with the thought of ever being pregnant again. It took me months before I could look at my body without hating what it had done.

 I guess I just felt the need to tell other loss moms that they aren't alone. That one day, one day, maybe not today, or tomorrow, or ever, will you be able to think about your baby without crying. We mothers love so intensely, from the first moment, we just do. I made all of these things from a place of pain and hurt that went so far beyond words that I need to paint and craft them out.

I don't know where you are in your grief journey. I don't know if you lost a baby two days ago, three years ago, or 30 years ago. I do know you carry a piece of that baby's life in your heart. I know that you think about that baby, at night, when you're sad, when someone else goes through this terrible awful thing. I do know that you don't forget, and that you just never will. And I know what the Art of Loss looks like. I know the anguish in your soul as you pour your heart in something, anything to make it hurt less.

I hope, Momma's, that you can look at this Art, and take courage. I hope that you can see that though this sorrow lasts for a while, it does sting less with time. I hope that you see the turmoil in these pages, the suffering that they came from. I hope you know you aren't alone. I hope you know that babies can and will be brought into this world, and I hope that you can still embrace that fact. I know your journey of grief and loss won't look like mine, but Momma's, let it out so that it looks like something more than bitterness and anger that affects the people who love you so much.

This is the Art of Loss. This is my story. What's yours?