Home is Where The Heart Is

I am a bit ashamed to admit how much not selling our house has put a damper on an otherwise exciting time in our life. Every day I check my phone multiple times a day, hoping the real estate agent has texted saying there is a showing...because then there is a chance we could get an offer. Meanwhile, I forget that we have both been welcomed into new positions with excitement, we do have a place to rest our head during the early stages of this transition, and the kids are already enrolled in a great daycare. But the house keeps coming up as a blemish to this otherwise bright future.

The other night I really broke down about this. After the 5th person asked if we had a house in Wilmington and after the 5th explanation of, "We can't buy anything until our current house sells" (you know, trying to be financially responsible), I just started praying. I prayed that instead of the house showing how good it looked that it would instead it would emanate the love that filled its walls. I prayed that the joy of bringing home a newborn baby would be ingrained in the foundation. I hoped that many Christmases of children sitting, trying to wait patiently for the "GO!" signal on the stairs and the anticipation of the excitement would be as evident as the paint choices. I want for the prospective owners to know of the wonderful neighbors that would mow our yard when two small children were needing our attention more than our home's exterior. Or the many knocks on the door inviting us to go sledding down a fresh-coated snowy hill. Those are things that are really hard to advertise, but I pray that they will somehow convey.

I want the right person to buy our house. I want to know that it will be a place of welcome and warmth. And even though I just want it sold, I can't just be okay with my home just becoming a house for someone else. And maybe that is why they say "Home is where the heart is." Because as much as I want to be fully vested in our transition to Wilmington, I'm fixated on this home. As we pack, the realization of our departure becomes more evident. And maybe that's why I dragged my feet right up to the point of not doing the packing. And I left that for my husband to do as our kids and I traveled for the days before we all move to North Carolina. I'm having a difficult time separating from this structure. We have been so blessed by this place and I have put so much of myself into revitalizing a  1980s decor to a more modern version.

And some point soon, we will pull out of the driveway one last time, close the garage door (just as we have a thousand times before), and close another wonderful chapter of our lives. That makes me sad because right now, we don't have the next chapter fully opened in front of us. We will be without a home, and that is actually harde r than being houseless.  But I know that we will be together and okay and that this time that seems so drawn out and never-ending will end. We have been so lucky in our big blue house on the hill and a little part of my heart will be left behind in Chattanooga because of our home.

Who Is My Neighbor?

This past Thursday in Chattanooga could be described as the most surreal of my life. The nurse practitioner student at our clinic reported a shooting at the river park my family frequents often. My first thought was my husband, who will sometimes go for a mid-morning run. Could he have been there? A text confirming that he was fine put that to rest quickly. Then word came in that there were other places in the city where gunfire had broken out and that this was a shooting rampage. The hospitals were on lockdown, my children's daycare was on lockdown. My next worry was could we pick the kids up. More news stories revealed the gruesome details of the day. First, an officer injured, then death (but no known count), then the shooter dead. Four Marines died Thursday and a sailor lost his life 2 days later due to injuries sustained at the scene. By 4pm on Thursday, the name of the gunman started appearing on local and national new sources. And then, the announcement that he lived in a middle-class neighborhood in Hixson, TN. My husband called shortly after that telling me not to take the kids home, our neighborhood was on lockdown and a raid was being conducted about 10 houses down. That's right, my neighbor was a gunman in a crime that is now an international investigation.

I would like to say I felt something when all of this was revealed. But the truth is, I didn't know what to feel. Maybe the first inappropriate thought on my mind was that our house was not likely to sell after this. The next thought was just disgust that my life had been inconvenienced. But as the days have started to separate from the initial numbness and shock of a terror attack that was literally so close to home, I've begun thinking, who is my neighbor and how am I suppose to react in this situation?

I didn't know the family personally. I would say hello or wave as we walked the dog around the cul-de-sac. I knew they were Muslim by their garb but I didn't have any other interaction in the split seconds we were in each others presence. I was asked by reporters if there were any signs or anything weird and I honestly answered that our neighborhood was a quiet and nice one. People were always cordial but other than a select few, I didn't know anyone all that well. So who was my neighbor? I don't know. And who are still my neighbors? That I cannot tell you either.

I am Christ follower and I have also been through a very public family ordeal so as I felt emotions welling up, it took a while to recognize that maybe God had something to say about how I publicly addressed this issue, about how I condemned the killer, but yet how I will learn to be a neighbor to those other people who don't act or look or believe like me. "Love your neighbor, but hate your enemy..." But Lord, what if that person is both? But God says, look at what I sent my son to say about that. Matthew 5:38-48 "It is said 'Eye for an eye, and tooth for a tooth.' But I tell you do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the left one also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your cloak as well. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go a second with them as well. Give to the one who asks you and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you. You have heard 'love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those that persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect."

I am not going to say that I know how to do that. I feel like if any sympathy is given to this man's family, people are quick to label it anti-American or claim that I couldn't possibly grieve the soldiers as well. I'm getting really dismayed at the current rhetoric in our country where we have to constantly choose a side and it's always an all or nothing stance. I want to still hope that the family did not know what was going on, and if that's true, how even more devastated they are than the rest of us.

As I drove by the memorial at the Naval Center yesterday, the overwhelming sense of loss hit me. I realized that those 5 servicemen took the same road into work that day, not anticipating it would be their last. They probably had a false sense of security, just as I do everyday, that this is America and things like attacks on military and civilians happen in "other places". And I just cried. I am so devastated that this happen to those neighbors guarding our country. It wasn't fair or just and it could've been me pulling into that park that day.

Isaiah, my oldest son, has been identifying lots of people as his neighbors recently. I don't know when this idea was planted in him, but he's been questioning, "Mom, are they my neighbor?" a lot. Finally, yesterday he boldly stated that we are just all neighbors in this world. Ugh, out of the mouths of babes! Why does Jesus give us such a hard task of loving all. And here my son is reiterating that love in simplest terms. The comments section on any of the recent news stories provides ample proof that we are certainly not doing a very good job of showing the world the command Jesus gives in Matthew 5:38-48. It is so easy to be convicted and righteous on the internet. We never see the other people eye-to-eye, we never engage in a way that builds relationships, we never assume we will be in a similar situation. So words can be used as daggers. But what about when you know someone outside the headlines? What about caring about what happens to them when the camera and news crews have gone on to the next great story? That's when we show our neighbors, enemies, loved ones and friends that there is a God of grace, love, and hope. And we portray that in our lives so that they start to ask, "How do I get some of that?" Jesus never solved a problem by responding in a comments section. He engaged those who needed to hear of grace and love. And he stood by those who weren't considered a good neighbor.

My neighbor is a gunman who heinously killed 5 people in Chattanooga on July 16th, 2015. His actions hurt people across this entire community and country. But if I allow my response to continue the hurt, then nothing in this world will ever change. The news headlines will capture these cowardly acts more and more often, and it becomes the glorification of death. Because if we don't become neighbors who care for and love one another, we have missed the opportunity to share Christ's radical message of love and life. And if that doesn't get transmitted to this weary world, I fear what is to come. This is my call to fill my heart with the message Christ so clearly gives and to live it instead of just write about it. Because there is no telling when someone shares this love, what could change in the hearts of those who get to experience it.

The Awkward-ness of moving on...

Church is never just a job. While I have the luxury of going home and leaving most of my work at the office, Brad has never been able to separate home/work life. He's not meant to either, because church and spirit and life are suppose to be intertwined. That's why as we embark on this journey of following God's call away from our current beloved church home, I am dreading the thought of saying good-bye.

This church was heaven-sent. Brad was basically a phone call away from leaving the ministry 5 years ago. But we found this little church on a busy thoroughfare in Chattanooga that loved us so well. It helped us bring two babies into existence and then loved them with all that they had. It has given me women and confidantes who have helped me and supported me through the roughest year of my life. We have been encouraged and supported and cared for so abundantly, that the thought of hurting anyone almost paralyzes me and makes me hesitate our next move.

We ARE moving. Our children know and while they don't truly understand what we are leaving behind, they are excited for the next adventure. The awkwardness of this move is that we are so content with where we are that it almost seems ridiculous to leave. But that is where church differs too. When God sends word to you that his spirit is fluid and there are others that you must, "Go and make disciples" of there is a very human instinct to not listen. But we have always erred on the side of God knows what is best and He provides us with opportunities even if we are not looking.

The call to a new church is unlike anything comparable in the business realm. I will tell my co-workers that we are moving and they will be sad and wish me the best in my new position. There will probably be a send-off celebration and all will leave feeling good about the parting. But church is like a family member. They did not see this end of a true relationship coming, so feelings will be hurt and in many ways some will not wish us a fond farewell. I understand this, because we have shared births, deaths, job loss, family catastrophes, celebrations of hope renewed, and we sometimes just clung to each other because we didn't know where else to turn. The part of remaining mum on our calling to another place has been extremely hard, because I like to put all my chips on the table and rationalize all the thoughts, the hours of prayer, the contemplation, and finally the clarity that comes from following God's will for our lives. But it is essential to the process that our current church family know that we are still 100% dedicated and for them even though God has started preparing our hearts for a change, so the silence of our decision making remained intact.

There is a paradox of feelings: sadness for the comfort and safety of leaving our present church family behind and the excitement of what is to come, dreading the good-byes while welcoming new hellos, preparation to leave the only home my two boys can remember and the search for a new place. It is hard to feel like I have the right to be excited about this because there is so much of what we hold as truths right now that will be missing from a new place. Yet God is present in all of this. His love for his people knows no boundaries and we live in this crazy world of Facebook, Skype, and air travel that make seeing those we live far from more easy.

The decision to move to Chattanooga was easy. We were having a child and our family was here. We would be close to Nashville and we were beyond excited to be in the same city as Brad's brother, sister-in-law and nephew. That is the hardest part about this next step. We will be moving to a place where, once again, no family lives. We don't have the security of calling at a moments notice and having Mohm show up to take care of the grandkids. We cannot call up our nephew for a play date the next night. This part breaks my heart because I cherish the closeness of family so much. I want my kids to know they are not just house guests on a whirlwind trip to the relatives. I pray that their bonds with their cousin, aunt, uncle, and grandparents grows stronger than ever. But I know nothing is guaranteed, and we are determined to try our hardest to preserve those relationships and are making a point to prioritize traveling back to visit family, both mine and the McDowells.

I want people to know that it is okay to feel hurt and betrayed. I want them to understand that this was a prayerful, unexpected decision on our part. I never want anyone for one second to think that we were disgruntled or were searching for "something better". The truth is ministry doesn't usually allow a minister to just get a job across town (I know there are some examples where this does happen). Ministry usually means a major upheaval in the congregation and in the minister's family's lives. Everyone is left with a sense of uneasiness as the thought of pulpit committees and interims weigh heavy on the those who have loved other ministers and seen them move on know wholeheartedly. My hope in all these feelings of excitement, hurt, anxiety, love, is that each step is touched by God's presence. I pray that our current church knows what a gem they are and that they realize what a saving grace they were to us. They were the mother that bandaged some pretty significant wounds and helped us flourish into competent teens. And much like a teenager leaving home for college, we are on edge about the next step, but pretty sure a leap of faith is necessary.

The awkwardness of this situation has prompted complete trust in God, constant praying for those who this news will jolt and those who are waiting for us to come, and trusting that in the end we will leave being better people than the ones who came together five years ago. My excitement is to see God's kingdom being woven across all these miles that we have already traveled on our path and I know that one day, as we join together in Heaven, we can look back and say, we were God's kingdom together on Earth.

True Religion

I'm exhausted this morning! I'm ecstatic this morning! And those two competing feelings have been served via the wonderful National Championship stage thanks to Duke. Being a Duke fan is like being a Yankees fan, where there are the die-hards but there is a large number of haters. Kentucky fans hate us, UNC fans most definitely hate us, and just about anyone who likes the underdog hates us. But having been a part of this dynasty-of-a-program's fanbase and actually being a student of the school, I can tell you, there's is nothing that we wouldn't do during the months of November until (hopefully) the first week of April for this team. 

Having spent a good portion of my adult life in and around religion, I am making the bold claim that Duke basketball is a religion. I say this because I have seen people forsake all their comforts and time to devout themselves to an end goal...being present during the pinnacle of sporting rivalries...the Duke/UNC game in Cameron Indoor Stadium. I am not the first to make this comparison. While at Duke and an active participant in the InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, our staff worker shared that he believed the basketball fans practiced one of the purest and greatest examples of true religion. We had utter devotion to the cause. Sub-freezing temperatures were no reason to not be in the tents and potentially get booted out of line. We had elaborate spreadsheets that assured every second of the day was covered by a tent member. We smelled funny, we looked ragged, and perhaps some of us had to choose, good grades or a great seat to the game.

We didn't care what the rest of the world or even our fellow students thought of us because we had our eyes on the prize, the glory to come was worth the pain and toil of all the time and energy we had to expend to get into the game! We were devout, we were loyal and we were excited all the time. It was a religion in a refined form, but we worshipped the ground labeled Krzyzweskiville.  And if we got to sit at the foot of Coach K, well, we had our go-to story to tell the generations to come, if not to embellish a bit.

What I cannot seem to articulate is the energy and the feeling of being part of this amazing experience. It's hard to tell an outsider about all the benefit from basically denying ourselves our usual luxuries to "rough it" for a month and a half so that we can partake in a two-hour game. It all seemed worth it, it all was amazing. Sometimes I wish religious organizations were similar and sometime they are. But today, I'm not going to go into all the fantastic analogies of a sports idol and the church. No, today I'm going to celebrate that I have been able to enjoy this amazing sign of togetherness and "in it for the common good"-ness and mark this 5th national championship as something that fills my soul with joy and memories from other celebrations like it. And I'm also glad that I know that same joy in my "true religion" too. Go DUKE!!!!

Accepting the greatness of Easter

I have to admit, I have never been into a huge celebration of Easter. I'm a total Christmas gal. I decorate and celebrate from the moment after Thanksgiving dishes are done until the last needle falls off the Christmas tree. Lent and Easter were always paling in comparison to the massive celebration of Christmas and they just seemed like they were a lot of work, giving things up and having to recognize sins and all.

In my many years of youth groups and church camps and churches, I remember somebody once saying that Easter should be the MOST important holiday of them all. In truth, that really disturbed me because it was not my favorite, it really wasn't even in my top 3! Don't get me wrong, I realize the massive importance of the day and how it plays into Christianity. I know the crux of everything we believe is based on a risen Savior, but I guess I like my holidays to be warm and fuzzy, candelit, and Bing Crosby.

Easter is a joyous celebration, new life, resurrection, a second chance, but getting to Easter is hard. We throw our Savior to the wolves, but even more likely, when I put myself into the Passion story, I am in the pack of wolves. We talk about the hardship Christ endured and the upside-down kingdom created by this man, but in present reality, I don't see a lot of this happening in my life or in other Christians. Our country's current take on the "War of Religion" or "Religious Freedom" or religious anything is so divisive and filled with hate, it makes me wonder why Jesus would go through all of the suffering at all? Why did he give his life for people who know the whole story and ignore so much of it?

I get overwhelmed by the trudge to Calvary and the massive amounts of hate and evil still present in the world and I lose sight of the empty tomb. I forget that Jesus says, "Forgive them, Father. For they do not know what they do!" I want resurrection for everyone NOW, love for everyone NOW, a new heaven and new earth, NOW! But God knows that we all have to find our own resurrection in our life, and sometimes we have to find resurrection daily. The last year has taught me that a journey, no matter how straight it feels, can veer off course in a moment. People don't forgive easily and don't care about redemption sometimes. We are great at holding grudges and not too great at giving another grace. This past year has taught me that Easter is important. And it's not because it makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. It's important because during the absolute worst times, there is hope. There is always a chance for new life to emerge from the tombs of our souls. There is always a Savior who has seen this world against him, and there is victory over all of that.

Easter promises more hope than any other holiday on the record because it can take a wretch and give them grace. I cannot say I do that most of the time! I am challenged by Easter to be a better person, to recognize myself as a crowd follower and as a scared disciple. Easter gives me hope that despite all of that, Jesus still said, "I love you so much that I have to die for you. I love you too much to not give you hope that things can change for the better and that I will never abandon you in this journey!"

Clearly, there isn't a magic pill for that!

I have now had my hand in healthcare in some way, shape, or form for the last 7 or 8 years and as a provider, I realize how many people are looking for the magic little pill that will fix their problems. It may be weight for some, for others it's the feeling of hopelessness, for others it's the back pain. We want to be fixed! And TV commercials claim that there's got to be a cure for EVERYTHING! Don't even get me started on Dr. Oz...but I digress.

My usual spiel sounds something like, "I think these medications can help with what you are facing, but they aren't going to take away (the food, the temptations, the relative that pisses you off, the fact that you are spending a majority of your day not moving, thus making your back pain worse)." The truth is, I don't have a magic pill for anything that's hard or uncomfortable in life, but you do.

Let me give you an amazing example. I have a friend named Katie. She is one of the most talented people I know. She can create a cake just by looking at a picture. She's an amazing mother and wife. She has this gift that allows her to connect with people she hardly knows, and she also has this ability to welcome people into the things she's doing. She's also been able to lose an incredible amount of weight! She recently fit into her wedding dress (how many of us can say that?)! And I'm going to share Katie's secret, because it applies across so many things, it's the magic little pill that we don't want to swallow. Katie has an awesome story, it's an inspiration really, but it's not the training program she's used or the diet she's followed. The awesomeness of her transformation is that it was all Katie.

She made the decision to make some very drastic life changes. She's the one who sets aside 30 minutes a day to exercise, to stay away from the foods that plagued her for so long. She's the one who decided she deserved to be healthy. I make excuses every day for myself, fall into temptations and berate myself for the horrible way I feel later. It's a vicious cycle and I want the magic pill to fix the way I feel...instead I choose the magic candy bar in a lot of cases.

The reason I find Katie so inspiring though, is because she has shown me that this "magic" applies to so many other aspects of our struggle with this thing called life. I have too many patients who rely on the medicine to "fix" their diabetes or high blood pressure, but the truth is, THEY are the only ones who can truly change. The people who are suffering from depression have to have a plan to combat those triggers that will surely come and get ready to fight the bad days (along with the meds, I'm a big proponent of multi-layered therapy). The person who wants to better their life even though everyone tells them that it's impossible has only to prove that they can't to themselves.

We have to stop waiting for our magic pill, lottery win, or whatever else we have drawn up as our answer to the hard questions. We are the answer to the questions. We are the ones deciding how we handle the situations that leave us feeling distraught and empty. I know I don't have all the answers on how to get through the hard things, or on how to make significant changes, but another thing Katie has taught me is that by putting yourself out there and really attempting to change for the better, people come out of the wood work to support you, and others are curious about your secret because they want in on the good stuff too. And a community can come up with some pretty good tips on getting through the stumbling blocks. Community can help us be honest with ourselves and see that we are our own worst saboteurs. Community is what we have to have to function in this scary, sometimes awful world.

So clearly, there's no magic recipe, pill or anything else. Anything we want is not going to happen overnight because we have to make the necessary changes to lay a foundation that last. We just have to take it one day at a time and  make our best effort every day and have a plan to get back on track when we falter. We have to realize that we are awesome and we need to start wanting the best for ourselves. And if you are lucky enough to have a friend like mine, you'll hopefully find a way to inspire each other!

Mommy-Guilt and Less Selfish Revelations

My daily routine goes something like this: wake-up, immediately start getting ready so I can be dressed by the time two sleepy boys come down the hall, take the sleepy boys down the stairs, get breakfast started for kids, pack my lunch, feed the dog, attempt to get children dressed, leave for work, see patients all day, pick up kids, start dinner upon entering the door, play with kids, baths, stories, 30 minutes-2 hours of post-lights out attempts at inducing sleep, awaking in the children's bed, stumbling down the hall to my bed, drifting off to sleep to the sounds of my husband snoring (sorry honey!) and repeat the next 6 days.

It's easy to say that I long for days where I get a moment to myself. I daydream about the days I used to come home and check my email, flip the TV to a non-animated show and go to bed when I wanted to. So when Brad offered to take the kids to Nashville for a night a few weekends ago, I was conflicted because I felt a great sense of guilt at letting them go without me. 

I think it stems from being a working mom and knowing that weekends should be treasured. It's the mom-guilt that I'm somehow not being there enough for my boys during their waking hours. But when I look back at the last 4 1/2 years as a parent, I realize that I can still count the nights I've been away from my kids on two hands. And it wasn't like I was abandoning my children. They were going to their grandparents house with my husband, their father. Needless to say, they were not feeling the see-saw of emotions I was, they were just ecstatic to go see their beloved Mohm and Gogo (yep, those are their grandparent names)! 

I know I need to get over myself. I think back on my childhood and the great times I had with just my mom or just my dad. I remember sleep-overs at my Grandma's were the best and the over-nights at my aunts and uncles were always awesome (except for the clocks at Aunt Dorie's house...those of you who have stayed there know what I'm talking about)! And my children need to have those experiences without me. I guess part of me worries I'm going to miss something special. We've long past the days of firsts (first words, first steps, etc), but there is so much joy in seeing my kids discover and do new things. I love watching them with our family and seeing how loved they are. I hate just hearing about it. 

On the other hand, I watched all the shows I wanted to watch that night. I went to bed when I wanted and got up when I wanted. I cleaned the house and it stayed that way (until 10 minutes after the crew returned from Nashvegas). I ran errands without worrying I had to get back to relieve my husband. I got my haircut! I needed a day and night to myself, because in all honesty, I haven't had one in a very long time. 

This parenthood gig has made the whole "dying to self" thing so much clearer to me. For years, my involvement in Christian circles has touched on how we must "die to self" to truly know what God wants from us. That's easy to talk up that Christian lingo but really hard to do as a single adult without too much true responsibility. But it becomes very clear what that means when you are a parent. 

I don't do anything where my first thought isn't, "where, when, how will this affect my kids?" When I was breast-feeding, I was constantly thinking about how to keep this little creature alive, since I was providing his nourishment. This came with the inability to realize I needed a shower or a change in the clothes I had been wearing for 72 hours straight. I don't plan my own agenda without preparing a coordinating one for the rest of the family. I really don't get to think about myself first, nor do I really want to, because these other people in my life are so important to me. That's dying to self. When it's no longer about you any more, and it's all about the ones you love. That's what God wants from us. 

Can I just comment here that dying to self is exhausting, scary, and a constant struggle? I would have never thought how consuming motherhood was going to be. I would have never realized how often I would long to be in two places at once (one place that the only rule was: no children allowed, and the other rolling around on the floor playing silly games with my boys). I never realized how often I would choose to not do something for myself for the sake of my kids. I never realized how much I coveted my time and my schedule. 

Now, I'm not saying that I didn't deserve a break. God knows, and so do all you mommies, that we all need a recharge sometimes. Our littles are better served if we aren't going crazy on a daily basis. But I try to step back every once in a while and realize that my parenthood parallels God being our Holy Father/Mother/Being. He sacrifices a lot for us, lets us go off and do all the crazy things we think are getting us somewhere, and then he's there when we run through the door screaming, "Daddy, I'm home!" He doesn't take vacations away from us, and he wants nothing more from us but to drop all our outside distractions and realize the love that we have before us. On my good days, I can do that. On my bad days (which are more often than I like to admit) I try to check-out for a few minutes on my phone or with bad cable TV. 

I don't know how to stop feeling the conflict of trying to be there for everything in my family's life. But I'm trying to really make an effort to realize that God's a parent too and he doesn't want us to feel guilty for allowing our kids to have experiences without us present. In fact, I know the day will come where I won't be there for my kids every wake-up and bedtime, and thinking about that makes me sad. But I cannot let my desire to keep them innocent and little stop me from teaching them independence and self-care. I can be an example that "dying to self" doesn't mean I have to neglect myself either. Taking a break doesn't mean checking out of life at all levels.

We start as selfish beings, all-consumed with ourselves. We were not meant to continue that way throughout life, that's why a lot of us become parents. I think God knew we could never truly give ourselves over to him without having a clear example in our daily lives. Boy, did he get it right! Until this little living, breathing miracle became mine, required my love, devotion, direction, and of course, re-direction, I didn't get it. I didn't get the way God loves us, wants us to leave everything and be his. He wants to be the arms we run to for comfort. And I understand that so much clearer now. A weekend of reflection and missing my kids does wonders for the soul. This post would not have been written in the middle of our normal, chaotic days and nights. And in the end, the break was good, but the reunion was better!