Pain Doesn’t Mean Pause

It has not been the easiest or calmest summer. But I’m not going to lie and say it’s been a bad summer. In fact, it’s been wild, scary, busy, and exhausting, but it’s also been my favorite summer.

The past few weeks have been great. I’m still tired and busy and doing new things, but everything has been going really well. I’ve had awesome moments with Jesus, have met some amazing people, and have learned awesome new crafts.

The conversations I’ve had with the people I love are nothing short of glorifying to God and His name. Everything is pointing back to Him and I’m so humbled to be where I am. 

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Side Effects

Here’s something you don’t hear very often: when you go through something traumatic, there are more side effects than you may have thought of.

I have been focusing so much on the emotional that the physical side effects have been overlooked. I’ve thought about money, my dad’s physical well being, my moms, the different jobs that have been effected, etc etc. But not until today did I think about the other side effects of trauma.

Not until I was on a treadmill, dying a mile into my run, did I slam the machine in frustration and yell a choice word did I realize the most annoying side effect. 

When You’re Waiting

Ever heard the saying “A watched pot never boils”?

No?

Okay, where on EARTH have you been for your entire life?

The meaning of the phrase is this: When you watch something, desperately waiting for it to happen, it seems to take so much longer than if you’re not paying attention. If you make tea and then lean against the counter, staring at the kettle, it will never sing. But if you leave, go downstairs, start a new project, and go to the bathroom, then it will start screaming immediately.

Probably while you’re on the pot.

Processing Trauma

The Paris hospital hallway probably wasn’t as long as I remember it being. In reality, it took us 30 seconds to walk down the hallway to my dad’s room. In my memory, that was a 20 minute walk. It was up a hill and through a wind storm and under a screaming sun. It was a hike incomparable to my long distance runs.

The smocks we had to wear, the paper gowns that pretended to keep out germs, took maybe 10 seconds to get on. They felt like a light bristle against my skin, not like a heavy weighted quilt that took five minutes to pull on, which is what seems to be in my memory.

Taking the Stairs

You’re following my family’s story right? You’ve been reading our Facebook posts, liking them and sometimes commenting. Maybe you’ve shared one or two. You’ve prayed and reached out and I can’t say thank you enough.

If you haven’t been, that’s okay. Welcome to… well, I’d say hell but I’ve seen too much of heaven to be that blind. Welcome to one chapter of a bigger story. It’s a wild ride, step on and share it with us.

Here is the quick rundown: My dad is a traveling missionary. He was in Africa. Some d*mn mosquito bit him. (Eff that bug) My parents go to Siberia in the middle of no where. My dad is really sick and unresponsive. It’s 2 am. My mom is alone. Queue a week in a crappy Russian hospital where the paint is pealing off the walls and my mom isn’t allowed to see my dad and the doctors don’t speak English and they’re telling my mom to remember him as he was. Span over to Greenville, Texas in a full house on an acre of land where five people, mere kids in this moment, are desperately doing all they can to keep their dad alive from 10,000 miles away. Take in the whole picture and see thousands of people, believers, holding this family up. Fast forward to the success of my parents making it to Paris. The doctors doing all they can. The kids crying at his bedside while a machine breathes for their dad and their mom fights to stay strong. 

The Waves

You know that feeling when you know God has something to tell you and all day you feel it in the back of your head? Like a whisper blowing through your mind, tickling all your senses till you give into the words? The promises?

All day God had been telling me to read Matthew 8.

I’m sure you know it: when Jesus calmed the waves.

Haley, Meg, CJ, Emily…

I’m trying to find words. I feel this urgency to find them because it’s what I do, it’s my thing. I find the words that become hard to find and I write them down. That’s my gift and how I manage.

But it’s getting harder to find words that merit being shared about this situation. If I’m being honest, even though we keep getting good news and we are being so encouraged and supported, I’m finding it difficult to sit down and write something that’s worthy of being read.

I can’t seem to explain.

Then I Face-Timed with Zoe for a while and realized I didn’t have to fully explain because it could never fully be understood, but that didn’t mean I shouldn’t try.

Mommy…

One of the worst parts of all this is watching my Mom. I’ve never seen two people more in love, more passionate about pursuing God together, than my parents. I’ve never seen a team that works so hard to share the love of God with every corner of the earth. I dream of a future where maybe, just maybe, I’ve found a love like this one. Of finding a love that endures a nightmare you couldn’t even imagine. I dream of finding a man like my Daddy, albeit maybe with one or two more tattoos. 

Daddy…

There’s no where to start.

Mainly because it’s not over yet.

But we all know I process through words. And I’ll be d*nged if there isn’t more to process than I ever could have imagined. Let me start by saying this:

I have been given a glimpse of the Kingdom of Heaven.

Everywhere I turn someone is telling me they love me, they’re here for us, they are praying for my family, offering to help. Every minute I know my family is covered in prayer. Multiple times this week I’ve felt like I couldn’t continue. It was over. My Daddy was gone, I wouldn’t be able to continue. I don’t know how to do my taxes, I’ve never met someone who can hug me like him, I’m not married yet so who will walk me down the aisle? In the midst of God’s faithfulness, I’ve felt my faith failing. I’ve felt myself doubt promises of God’s goodness.

I’m Feeling 22

What kind of blogger/writer would I be if I didn’t make a post reflecting on the past year of my life on my birthday?

What kind of Lawson would I be if I wasn’t a day late on writing this blog post?

What kind of millennial would I be if I didn’t link this post to this amazing, iconic song? Listen, I can’t control the fact that I’m five+ years younger than Taylor so this song is now five years old. Blame my parents.

But I am feeling 22. This birthday is one of the first where I can answer “Yes” truthfully when someone asks me “Do you feel older?” And that’s not because my mom was a beast this day (yesterday, I’m late) 22 years ago. This specific day doesn’t have anything to do with it because I didn’t grow a year older over night. I grew a year older over a year.