Life Beyond The Chair

Listen Listen for the voices that might have been Listen for the stories needing to be written Listen for asign they might be alive Listen for the hope that did survive Listen

"Remember my yellow room mama?" "When we will go home, mama?"Wyatt would ask me these kinds of questions over and over again after we lost our home in 2008. I was always amazed as the months turned into years that his memories stayed so accurate. Wyatt was only 6 when the financial devastation that followed my injury, took its largest toll. This time it took our home. It took our little red house nestled in a beautiful valley surrounded by mountains. It took our little red house that looked like a wreck to everyone else when we bought it, yet to us, we saw in it, our dream home. It took our 5 acres. It took our gardens and our goat pens. It took our shops and our schoolhouse. It took everything. As we drove out the gate one last time, I realized that we were losing something far greater than our home. We were losing our feeling of home, belonging and roots. We had planted our family story in that house and its roots ran deep. I had moved throughout my entire lif

"You should write a book!" I have heard this over and over from people most of my my adult life. I always find it flattering and a bit funny. While I know that my life is far from normal, why would anyone else care? We all go through life and have many different experiences and challenges, why are mine noteworthy? I guess I should be flattered that people find me so interesting:) If you know me personally, you know that I most likely have more than one story to tell. I have, I must amit, been very Blessed with "experiences" throughout my life. When God sat down to write my story, He must have thought I had a lot more strength that I do.  There are many parts to my story that would look beautiful written down. Stories of hope, dreams, love and faith. However, the darker more difficult times do not flow as easily. It's as though, if I write them down, if I let them out, they will become alive again. These stories speak of lost hope, shatte

WORSHIP I did not worship at all following my injury. I remember a period of bargaining and pleading in the early weeks. A mindless plea to nothingness that somehow gave me a much needed peace. However, once it became apparent that my condition was permanent, God was dead to me. He was dead in my heart and He was dead in my home. I could not begin to comprehend a God that would give me 7 beautiful children and then take away my ability to care for them. What?! I had weathered more tragedy than I cared to remember. I heard all the " Don't be a fair weather" Christian sermons, I was well versed in it all. I dutifully Prayed through the death of my infant son, I lit candles for my mother and her endless addictions and I accepted that it was God's will that our home burn to the ground New Years Eve 1999. Through it all I never waivered. Faith was the only thing that got me through the dark days. But paralysis? This was too much. God, or whatever was out there h

FIVE MINUTE FRIDAY: EXPECT When I found out I was pregnant with our oldest, Max, I bought both "What To Expect" books. Back in 1993 there were only 2, What To Expect When You Are Expecting and What To Eat When You Are Expecting. Now they have a few more. However, the one "Expecting" book I need is not written yet. It is the what to expect when the LEAVE! As a mom of 7 I never imagined this day would come. We were engulfed in baby, toddler, homeschooling, activities and sports for so many years that it was a thought that rarely entered my brain. I was completely immersed in life as a full time stay at home mom and I loved every moment. Well, there might have been a few rough moments that I did not love.:) Then, they grew up. First one turned 18 then it seemed as though I turned around and my youngest will be a teenager in November. We have 4 at home and 3 that have moved out. I am sure some reading this might think: "4 at home? That is a lot!".

Enough Our life has a rhythm  It makes no sense  To anyone but us All is well Slight shift Everything is normal until.... A test A fall A set back Another rogue  situation An upheaval  It happens to no one else We feel a shift  A slight sense of something  What might panic most, just "tilts" us There is no time to panic us can you stay in a perpetual state of panic? Stress? Tilt? So this thing comes with us  Strapping itself to our backs We adjust We settle Stress Pain Grief Loss It shoulders itself like a yoke.  An aged, wooden burden, Enough Crying  Anger  Lost hope Shattered dreams Courage If I just have enough...

This post was written in 5 minutes, No pre write, no edits, no obsessing...GO SING "WOW! Emily Ann, when it comes to ABBA, you sure can sing!" The words fell from my mom's lips so easily. It was as if she complimented me like that every day. This would be the only time I remember my mom ever giving me such a compliment. We were laying on the rust colored, shag carpetof our wood paneled basement on Sequioa Drive in Eagan, Minnesota. I was 9. Earlier that morning my dad had packed what was left of his things to leave for what would be the final time. Molly had retreated to the basement to work things out with a bottle of Ernest and Julio Gallo wine and a stack of ABBA records. Despite the alcohol, I loved this afternoon with my mother. We sang, we laughed and we talked. During that afternoon our world was not filled with chaos and confusion.  There was only a connection that my mother and I made in that moment. The bond we created that afternoon would