New Blog Address!

In an effort to simply my life and, for lack of a better term, brand I have changed my blog url.

All these posts can still be found here, but all new content (and all the old) will be found at the address bellow. I hope to see you there.

Come follow me at JoyLeanne.

Broken but Useful

This was going to be an Instagram post, but it got to long and I realized just how much this topic has been sitting on my heart lately.

It's been over five years since my  now sister-in-law then brother's girlfriend brought me this adorable mug. I asked her stop and pick something up a Walmart for me one day and she showed up with my thread, chocolate, and this mug.

Years later it broke but I couldn't bring myself to throw it away.
So I found another purpose for it.
Broken but useful.
Its brokenness changed it's purpose, but not its ability to be used.
There is a lesson in this.
For me.
For all of us.

Our church has been doing a series on 1 Corinthians the past few months and the past two weeks have had a overriding theme.

Broken but useful.

And my heart aches at this. I understand broken. I understand it all too well. Useful gets complicated for me.

When I first came face to face with depression I lived in a culture that judged harshly. I was criticized and ridiculed for my honesty. And I fought back. I spoke up and shared openly about my brokenness and how God was working in my life in an effort to change the environment around me.

And then the years slipped by and I gradually grew silent. I became weary of the glances and the comments and learned to only reveal the "acceptable" parts of my brokenness.

I became cautious in what I shared. I became guarded in what I wrote. I held back part of myself for fear that I would be deemed incapable or unqualified to serve.

I began to believe the lie that the brokenness made me unusable. And in believing it made it true.

The more I hid my brokenness the less useful I felt. The less useful I felt the more tried to hid my cracks. It's a vicious cycle.

God uses our brokenness to bring glory to Himself.
He uses our brokenness to reach the broken people around us.
Our brokenness is what makes us useful.
When I hide my broken places I miss out on being used.
Our brokenness my change HOW God uses us, but never, every His ability to use us.
Broken but useful...but only if I am honest.

Writing Brave

I wasn't going to write today.

There are a million reasons not to.
I started purging the kids clothes yesterday and after hours of work the house now looks like a Children's Place exploded in the living room.
I'm in the middle of prep for a huge local craft show I participate in twice a year.
My toddler is running screaming up and down the hall way (my husband is watching her so it's not that she NEEDS me).
I am exhausted and a nap sounds REALLY good right now.
I've dealt with a number of disappointments this week and I am feeling a little defeated.

But God has given me a word for this year when it comes to my writing.

“Brave”

And today writing feels like the brave thing to do.

It's easy to write when there are dead lines and guaranteed audiences.
It is easy to write when we know the outcome.
But taking the time away from other things to write when the outcome is unclear... that takes some bravery.

Showing up fully in anything takes a certain level of bravery.

Art
Friendship
Love
Life
Any time we give ourselves fully to something (even if only for ten minutes) we are stepping outside of our comfort zone.

Those stolen moments when we step out side of the known and the secure and stand on the edge of the unknown.

It's what makes life interesting.

Small and Brave: A Mission for 2016.

They say to write what you know. This is what I know. I know an ordinary life. I know play dates and dinner dishes. I know bus stops and first grade home work. I know bed time routines and sticky hands.

My life is quite. It is wonderfully beautiful in all of it's ordinariness. I see a trend on places like Instragram to celebrate the simple, small wonder of our every day lives. It's a wonderful trend. But I wonder, have we romanticized the every day. Are we afraid to acknowledge that the mundane can be as exhausting as it can invigorating? None of us want to be whiners, but I wonder if in our desire to offer hope, we have painted the world with rose tinted water colors ( or instragram filters.)

I love a good movie quote. You've Got Mail is full of them. One of my favorites is when Kathleen Kelly is writing to Joe Fox about her small life.

"I lead a small life - well, valuable, but small - and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave?"

When we were kicking 2016 off Josh and I chose a word for our family for the year. As I have moved more fully into this year though God has given me a word for my writing. "Brave."

It was probably last October when I realized that my words that seemed to speak to people most were those I wrote about the ordinary struggles of life. I haven't over come any major hurtles in my life., but, like every Mom, I have had to over come boredom as I fix the 25th sandwich of the week. They may not win any Pulitzer prizes, but if my words on sick babies, rough home work nights, and missed naps offer encouragement then they are worth writing.

But writing these words takes bravery. It takes trusting that you all will understand my heart. That you will know that I am not trying to complain or gain sympathy. I am writing for the Mamas who need to know they are not alone.

There is a lot written out there for Mama's with special needs kids.
But what about the kid who is struggling just a little?

There is a lot written for single moms, or military wives.
But what about the wife who does bed time every night because her husband works late?

There are words of hope and encouragement for those dealing with crippling depression.
But what about the women who is dragging. Surviving and living, but with less joy than she would like?

I took a huge step in bravery last Friday. For the first time on social media I addressed my depression.
There are seasons when it is overwhelming, and seasons when I don't even think about it, but more often than not it just a part of my life I am learning to live with and cope with. It's something I am willing to talk about face to face, but never before have I mentioned in on social media.

But I stepped out in bravery in hopes of being a voice for all the other "ordinary" women out there.

Steps of bravery aren't always rewarded. Mine was. In a way that blew me away. It was encouraging beyond my wildest hopes. But more than that is reaffirmed what God has been calling me to.

For the first time I feel like I have a true goal and mission for this blog. My prayer is that it will be a space to give voice to the beauty and the pain of the ordinary.

Here is to a small and brave 2016.

Seasons and Stories

We are in a season of change at our house. We are writing a new chapter of our story. The first six weeks of the year included God actively taking some things out of our lives. I can't even say “we let go of things” because we really didn't have a choice. The changes were swift and out of our hands.

It would be easy to dwell on the loss of these things. To mourn what no longer is. They were good things. Things we loved and had prayed over and had chosen for ourselves. They were good things they just weren't “right now” things.

In her book “The Best Yes” Lysa Terkeurst talks about trees having to let go of their leaves to survive winter storms. There is a season for leaves and a season for snow, but if a tree holds onto its leaves too long it can't hold the weight of winter storm. We can't move into a new season with out letting go of something.

And so we let go to make room for new things...and this is where it get's slippery for me.

I love Instagram and follow a wide variety of people. I follow photographers and restaurants, doll makers and art journals, theater gals and art worshipers. And it is amazing! My feed is constantly full of amazingly talented women and there is a world of inspiration at my finger tips. Some times it is amazing and I walk away energize and excited to pursue my own passions with new energy.

And then there are days when I walk away discouraged because I want to try ALL THE THINGS!

I want to read that new books

And WRITE the next book
And making stunning works of art in my Bible
And have a perfectly decorated planner
And perfectly styled photos
And be on ALL THE DESIGNE TEAMS
Heck be on ONE design team
And make all the types of dollies
And grow my business

And add DIYS to my blog

And make adorable Valentine's with my kids...
And
And
And
And

Instead of being inspiring and life giving it sucks the beauty out of my season. These are the days when I have to put down my phone and remind myself what MY story is. I have to remember the passions and jobs God has given me to do. What my main things are.

And, for me, that is the key to living happily in my season, letting go of some things, waiting on others, and living fully with the “right now things.”

Living Our Story in an Instagram Age: or Lessons from a Horse and His Boy

 

Have you ever read A Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis? If not I encourage you to. Actually I would encourage any one who hasn't read through the entire Chronicles of Narnia series to do so. It will change the way you see the world. I promise.

Depending on what order you are reading the series A Horse and His Boy is either the third book you read (if read chronologically) or the fifth book you read (if read in the order written). Either way it is an interesting departure from the formula used in all the other books. In each of the six other books children from our world are transported to a magical world. In A Horse and His Boy however, all of the characters are from the world that contains Narnia.

In this unique book Lewis explores the concept and idea of story in a number of ways. Particularly the idea that we each have our own story, and that we are never told stories that are not our own. Over and over people tell their stories and . in some case, have their stories told to them. Each story raises questions and you are left with the realization that even our own stories can never fully be understood when they over lap with the story of someone else.

“Child,' said the Lion, 'I am telling you your story, not hers. No one is told any story but their own.”

C.S.Lewis A Horse and His Boy

There is no way that when C.S. Lewis wrote his book in the early '50s that he could have even imagined the world of social media we live in. Now days our stories aren't just told around kitchen tables or on park benches. Our stories are being told daily, moment by moment on a variety of social network platforms.

This is so much beauty in this. So often it isn't until we share our stories with others and hear a much hoped for “me to” that we find meaning and healing in our own stories.

This constant story telling also poses a danger. It is so easy to see a picture on Instagram or a few moments on Periscope and think we have the whole story. Even when it is a dear friend and I know the story is deeper than what I am seeing, it is so easy to forget.

It is so easy to wonder...
“Why them?”
“Why not me?”
“What are they doing right?”
“What am I doing wrong?”

It is so easy to long for a story that is not my own.
To get caught up in the snapshots of beauty and forget about the hard work behind them.

And so I remind myself over and over.
To live MY adventure.
To full enter into MY story.

“No one is told any story but their own.”

Un-extraordinary Loss: Our Miscarriage Story

February 12th 2012, the day we announced our pregnancy to friends.

Trigger Warning: This post is about pregnancy and loss.

I realized recently that I never really wrote about or shared my miscarriage story. At the time it wasn't really something you saw much of on blogs. Trust me, I searched. In the years that have passed I have had a number of friends experience this type of loss and many of them have written beautifully honest posts about their experiences.

But, one of the things I have noticed is that still, the people who write about their loss are those who have been through extraordinary circumstance. Be it ectopic pregnancy, late term miscarriage, laboring after a miscarriage, multiple losses, all of their stories have been intense.

My story is not.

I did some research and numbers are confusing and fuzzy, but most studies seem to agree that between 15-20% of confirmed pregnancies end in miscarriage. A confirmed pregnancy, in this case, means a normal (not early detection) pregnancy test has confirmed a pregnancy after a missed period.

That is a lot of pregnancies.

One of the main reasons I haven't shared my story up to this point is a sense of shame. I felt foolish grieving a baby I had only known about for two weeks. Had I been pregnant when my mother was young there is a possibility I wouldn't even had taken a test and would have assumed I was just really late. But the fact is, I was pregnant in 2012 and I had spent two weeks loving the child inside of me. I share my story for all the mamas out there like me.

You are not alone.

It was in the last couple days of January 2012 that I found out I was pregnant. January had been a crazy month and it took almost a week for me to realize I was late. A home pregnancy test confirmed that I was in fact pregnant. It was the beginning of the week and my mom and sister were coming to visit that weekend. We toyed with the idea of sharing our news with them, but decided to wait till we had visited the free pregnancy center for an “official” pregnancy test to share our news. This didn't however stop me from texting my brother's wife in Nebraska with our news. A day later she texted back with news of her own and I am still amazed that I managed not to spill any secrets while my mom and sister were in town.

Thursday, February 9^th about ten days after our home pregnancy test, we visited the local crisis pregnancy center for a “medically administered” pregnancy test. It was the only place in town that would do a free pregnancy test that could be used for insurance purposes. We had left our kids with his parents under the guise of “date night” so it was just the two of us when the nurse handed us the form that stated we were pregnant. Too excited to keep it to ourselves any longer we sat in the parking lot and called our families only to discover that my brother and his wife were making the same phone calls that night.

Friday, February 10^th Josh had plans to drive to a near by city with some buddies. I dropped the kids of with his parents for a sleepover and headed home for some rest. I noticed some spotting that night but didn't worry too much. I had a large amount of spotting with my first pregnancy and intense cramps with my second both caused by dehydration. I drank a glass of water, put my feet up, and decided that was no need to call my husband and worry him.

Saturday, February 11^th I picked the girls up from my in laws that afternoon and we went to visit Daddy at work. The spotting had come back so I mentioned in passing to my husband. He calmly reminded me of the spotting in my first pregnancy and told me not to worry.

Sunday February 12^th by the time we got to church Sunday I had been spotting all morning. To ease my mind I sought out a friend who was a nurse educator for labor and delivery nurses. She reassured me of all the reason spotting could happen. She encouraged me to rest and pray, and if I was still concerned in a few days to call the doctor's office to see if I could move up my first visit.

Convinced that rest was the answer my husband picked up tale out and movies on the way home from church and parked me on the couch for the afternoon. It is a testament to his love that he sat and watched teenage vampire movies with me all afternoon.

It was around 4 pm that afternoon that everything shifted. Certain that dehydration was the primary culprit I had been drinking crazy amounts of water and, as a result taking constant trips to the bathroom. Everything was fine... until it wasn't. The brown spotting had changed to bright red.
I knew then that my baby was gone.

It took me a while to tell my husband. I went downstairs and sat in our recliner trying not to cry. I sent two text messages. One to my mom, one to my sister in law. “It's red.”

A few hours later the spotting changed to bleeding and I knew I had to tell Josh. I thought I made it clear. I guess I didn't. He still had hope. I fell asleep crying that night while he prayed for protection over our baby.

Monday February 13^th Josh left for work that morning continuing to pray over the baby that I knew was gone. I was left with the task of calling various doctors offices and the pregnancy center trying to find some one who would see me. All of the had the same answer. “Sorry we can't help, go to the emergency room.”

His mom came and sat with our girls, a friend came and drove me to the ER. After a while Josh met us there.

Here is the thing about going to the emergency room for a miscarriage.
It isn't an emergency.

There is nothing they can do to stop it.

You are bottom priority.

And so we sat, and sat, and sat. Friends brought us lunch. My sister called. I still hadn't told our siblings so I am not sure if I texted her or if my mom had told her, but she called. I stood in the waiting room staring out a window listening to her. “I'll come,” she said. “But only if you want me to.” I felt horrible asking her to come. It was beyond selfish asking her to take time off of work to drive from Maryland when there was nothing to be done. I couldn't answer. “You have to ask me Joy. I need you to tell me what you want.” More silence. “Come,” I said. “OK,” she said. “I'll be there.”

More waiting.
They take us back.
They draw blood.
More waiting.
They order an ultrasound.
I drink water till it hurts.

The nurse does the ultrasound and for a few fleeting moments she seems to see something. Our spirits perk up only to be dashed when we realize she thinks she sees something wrong with me.
It's nothing.
It's not a baby.
It's not something wrong.
It's just nothing.

They still make us wait for blood work. The Dr. comes in and hands us lots of papers. He says things he thinks are helpful.
“There's no signs you were ever pregnant.”
“You probably had already lost the baby before the first pregnancy test.”
And as kind as his intentions are, what I hear is that I have no reason to grieve.

We quietly tell our families and post something simple on facebook. Conventional wisdom says you don't announce your pregnancy before 12 weeks to avoid situations like this. I have no regrets sharing our news when we did. Every baby should be celebrated, even if only for a few weeks. I am so thankful for those who not only celebrated with us but walked with us through the next few weeks with grace and concern.

Tuesday February 14^th Valentine's Day. Josh fixes me breakfast in bed and the girls and he bring me my gift. He has to go to work and offers to call his mom but my sister is on her way so he goes and the girls and I wait for her. I don't remember much about her visit. I do know it was one of the most self sacrificing acts of love I have ever experienced. To say any more would be to tell a story that is not mine. And I will not attempt to do that.

And then life moved on.
Sort of.
We picked back up where we left off.
I went to MOPS that week.
We went on the trip had planned to TN and up to Ohio to see some of his family.
No one mentioned the miscarriage, so neither did we.
We went back to church.
No one mentioned the baby, and so neither did we.

Over the next few months two couples in our circle both experienced miscarriages ending in traumatic DNCs and a close friend delivered her baby girl stillborn at 20 weeks.

I kept silent, full of guilt because I was still grieving after such a “simple” and “uncomplicated” experience. I felt like my sadness was invalid. It was an early miscarriage with no complications. Had it been a different decade chances are I wouldn't even have known about it.
But I did.
I knew and loved my baby for two beautiful weeks.

October 2012 my mom came to visit. It was the weekend of my due date. We didn't really talk about it much until right before she left. She told me in many ways the hardest part was over. I could stop ticking down in my head what milestones we would be passing in the pregnancy. Now I could move on.

And she was right.

There are still days I miss our baby There are still moments I look at my brother's oldest son and wonder if we would have had a boy or girl and how they would have played together.

I have a wonderful, beautiful, full life. I have three amazing daughters. We were eventually blessed with our rainbow baby Anastasia which we found out means resurrection. It seems fitting as she resurrected hope and dreams we had placed aside.

But loss is loss and I four years later I am finally writing this blog post with no shame or embarrassment.
Having three healthy pregnancy doesn't change the fact that one of them ended too early.
Loosing a baby 8-10 weeks is still loosing a baby.
Just because it happens all the time doesn't mean it isn't devastating.
You don't have to have felt the baby move, or seen an ultra sound, or heard the heart beat to know you have a child inside of you and to love them like a mother.
There is no shame in your sorrow or your tears.

You are not alone.