Living Water

Two years ago we brought both of the girls to Rockport for Norah's first trip to the beach. She was just over a year old and was as itchy as ever.
The first day we went to the beach, Norah sat in the cool water and giggled and squirmed. This was new for her and she loved it. She had rarely been in a pool because harsh water conditions and bacteria posed a serious threat to her skin, but this she loved. Admittedly, I was worried about the toxicity of the water (being the Gulf of Mexico and all), but (despite many accusations of just keeping her away from "fun things" for my own benefit) I was willing to let her try it out at least once. The patches on her skin turned bright red as she played and I held my breath. We all were amazed as tiny little minnows came up to her legs and ate off the dead skin- and she let them! As we packed up to leave I prepared myself to come home to The Itchy Kid, having left Happy Smiley Beach Baby back on the shore.

What we found was just the opposite. The salt water had taken away all irritation. The patches were no longer raised or inflamed, her skin was (for the first time in her life!) somewhat smooth, and she seemed to momentarily forget that she was usually in pain and cheerfully played the rest of the day. When Norah has a bad reaction to something, we often stick her in a bath with some Epsom salt and essential oils with minor results so this was huge.
We rearranged our entire trip to get her in the water as much as possible that weekend. We even considered bottling up the ocean and bringing it back with us to Fort Worth, but knew the stagnate, contained conditions would spoil the water.

Fast forward to a year later when we moved to Rockport.
One of the (very few) things we were excited about getting our tiny lady out to the beach as much as possible. We couldn't apply sunscreen to her skin because everything we found triggered histamine release (this year we will be using coconut oil and carrot seed oil!) so we went to the beach at sunset and let Norah play every few days. Being in homes that were full of things that make her sick was very, very rough on her little system, but the salt water still worked magic for her.

Fall, then winter came and went. Though the weather was mild, it was still too chilly to get in the water.

But spring is here. The water is warming, the sun is out.

A few weeks ago we took the girls out for their Nature Study Day. Since the fishing was supposed to be good, we headed to the beach. The water was still chilly, but not so unbearable as to keep you from ankle wading. We ventured under the pier looking for hermit crabs, identified wildflowers, and dug a few holes. Then Norah got brave and waded out to a sandbar. The sand was soft that day and her little chubby body sunk fast with each step. I watched her patiently, expecting her to need me to catch her from falling at any moment. But then, she remembered.

She dug her plump fingers into the wet sand and began rubbing them on her legs saying "Mama! It feels so good on me 'kin!" and I won't pretend that I didn't cry.

Jesus scooped me up in that moment proclaiming His sovereignty as the Living Water.
I know that I often get caught up in thinking about the woman at the well and imagining babies in third world countries dying of thirst, but this time, I understood His picture of living water so much more. See, the chlorinated, harsh water that dumps from our tap can visibly clean Norah, but it does little to heal her. Christ is like this salt water. Teeming life that not only washes away our filth, but deeply refreshes our spirit and heals our wounds! Salvation has brought me this flowing gift, and today I am grateful for it.

Happy Humpday, Y'all!

On Parade

It's been about a month since I "quit" facebook.I know most of you read those "How Facebook is Making You An Addicted, Lazy, Horrible Human Being" articles and roll your eyes, but they were true for me. You need no more evidence than the fact I had emotional and physical withdrawals in the week following my decision. The reasons were many: time consumption, comparison overload, doling out judgment, the ability to be secretly crushing on a married man. Yep, facebook had me cornered on all fronts. So ties were cut, confessions and repentancing (new word that Webster will be adding soon) happened, and the truth is, after eight years, I don't miss it. I logged on yesterday morning to manage Norah's symptoms page and found it to be an overwhelming amount of verbal vomit.

Enter Instagram. Being a photographer, the pictures are where it's at for me. The majority of the users I follow take the time to post beautiful images with insightful captions. And I get to see some of the baby faces of my friend's children that are growing way too quickly and I love like my own sons and daughters. And now I find myself caught up again. Spiraling in the cycle of the scroll and tap. Hours of precious sleep get lost, I am painfully aware of my own narcissism and feel helpless to do anything about it, and I can't help but feel that by sharing the beautiful (aesthetically, spiritually, emotionally) through what I can show you in a picture, that my life is on parade. My marriage, my babies, my self righteousness, my ability all laid out there on an hourly basis. Robbing me of my time in prayer, pressing "Hold on baby, let me just type this up real quick" ahead of actually finishing the adorable project I've started with my children. AM I TALKING TO AN EMPTY ROOM HERE?! IS THIS JUST ME?!

This micro-blogging, it is a blessing. One in ten posts I subscribe to are dripping with the gospel, shedding enlightening, painful, vital truth. And the rest is simply drivel. And I'm fighting to find where that leaves me. Being so young, my babies' faces change daily. Lily is so impressive to me (and I find that sharing with you may cause you to compare her to your delightfully impressive preschooler), Norah is voicing her opinions and they are priceless (but she is not here for your entertainment), Phoebe is a baby sea lion in human form (and I know some of you can't fight your baby making ways and may fall victim to baby fever). I know all three of them bring Joy to the people whose lives are touched by them, it is an outpouring of their ministry that is still, like them, in it's infancy. Having an account of what happens during the day for my husband is so useful, especially on the days when the "So, how was your day?!" comes in the latest, briefest moments.

But as Eamon and I are being called to missions and are preparing our family in a way that reflects that, I feel it is crucial that I change what I am doing. I mean, can you imagine me in the Congo snapping a selfie captioned "So over getting shot at, maybe my adorbz new sunnies will totz protect me from shrapnel."?!? Because my track record shows I am not above that. And let's not get started on how "sharing the gospel from the mission field" often looks a whole lot like a plea for congratulation and adoration for your "good work."

I'm going to need a supernatural amount of self-control, humbleness, and discernment to properly navigate this next move. Lack of social media hurts my business, directs less traffic to my blog (which, really, I do try and use intentionally since it doesn't have the "HURRY UP AND POST. GET ALL THE INSTANT GRATIFICATIONS."), and can keep me isolated. So pray for me, if you will. I need more Jesus, and less me.

When They Called Her Ugly.

I have been editing Norah's condition out of her pictures since she was a newborn.I didn't want people to think she was in pain, or that she was neglected or that I couldn't do anything for her, so I cleaned up all of the rashes and blotches and blood and tried my best to play it off as "rosey cheeks." I didn't want to remember her in pain.

Yesterday she was playing outside with the neighborhood kids and I heard one of the older boys refer to her as "ugly." The day I had been dreading was here. The beginning of little people verbally recognizing Norah's condition. Not just taken a back, not just staring, but calling it out and assigning it a name.

"Ugly."

And what could I do??? She didn't hear him say it. But I know one day she will. And she may be hurt.

Every mother sees her beauty because we have that unspoken understanding of past offenses and insecurities that elevate all of the gorgeousness Norah possesses. But little boys and girls? Teenage boys and girls. They can't understand that hurt today. I am not ready for this.

So while it may not do her any good, we are done. In response to "Daddy do I look pretty today?" my husband responds with "Yes, you are beautiful and your clothes look great, too!" In response to "Mama, do you think I look pretty today?" I respond "Does that dress make you feel pretty?" In response to a screaming, unreasonably terrified little girl there will be no more "Hey you cut that out!" only "Norah, let's be BRAVE!" I am careful to critique my daughters school work without "What a pretty picture!" and with "You worked so carefully! Great concentration, I love the colors you used!"

I refuse. I. RE. FUSE. to raise shallow children.

The hurt *I* felt when that little boy...That little unknowing boy called my three year old daughter "ugly,"  was only a reflection of the weight I put on outward beauty.

My daughter is gorgeous. She is hilarious. She is bright and brave and strong and witty.

And I want to remember her as those things. On the days that her skin looks normalish. On the days (like today) where her skin is cracked and red and her legs are bleeding and her hives are out of control and the sound of her scratching makes my stomach churn, I want to remember her. No more editing out the "imperfect".

This is my daughter. She is Norah. She is Lovely in so many ways.

*Note from the mama: Norah is suspected to have a mast cell disease of which there is currently no cure for. While her symptoms can be managed with diet, controlled environment, herbal supplements and natural remedies, the nature of her disease leaves her unable to take all pharmaceuticals and even severely limits the holistic approaches we can take. This post is not to discuss her disease and what we have/haven't done for it/her, only a commentary  on yet another way it has effected our world.  Please be mindful and respectful of this when commenting. Remember, if you can think of a remedy, doctor or "cure" for her in the time it takes you to read this post, we have more than likely tried it out on her in the last three years ;)