tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26305379018229108822024-03-05T19:16:17.379-05:00A Life in Parentheses Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-49047555288294244752023-12-28T20:13:00.002-05:002023-12-28T20:32:20.254-05:00the grief rearranged methe grief rearranged me smothered my dna and resurrected me as someone else new?maybe
though it seems as if I am a part now of a long line of peopleholding hands through history
grief and resurrection wrapped like a thick rope around our
waistsschool children on their way to wherever they go next the safety of numbersthe danger of losing all at once
so maybe not newbut Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-72231167074262069252023-12-22T12:17:00.004-05:002023-12-22T21:59:42.928-05:00I Tell My Children They Are Good I tell my children they are good. I whisper it into their ears at night, when we are snuggled beneath their covers waiting for sleep. "You are good," I say. "I love you no matter what," I promise. "Okay," they say. "I love you, too," as they squeeze in closer.When I take my daughter shopping for a school dance, we read over the dress code. Nothing tight, must have straps, legs Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-57308323884112732742023-12-20T11:53:00.002-05:002023-12-20T11:53:39.185-05:00The Giant and The Tiny Useless Person Written Spring 2021Right now, I talk to God in the space between sleep and wake. I meet him there, in these moments between worlds, because I can’t do it anywhere else. As I’m slowly waking, before I’m alert enough to put up my guard, I talk to Him. I tell Him I’m mad (spoiler alert: He’s already very much aware of this. I tell him a lot). I ask Him to just figure it out, do what He’s going Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-34026904264756354192023-12-17T23:54:00.005-05:002023-12-18T11:11:42.002-05:00Rotten Fruit I wrote this post in the spring of 2021. I was shell-shocked and reeling from a pandemic that seemed to shake every area of my life and a presidency that seemed antithetical to everything I had been taught to revere but that the American church seemingly could not get enough of. It had been a full year of being a part of church leadership during a time when plans could change in an instant Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-67230800533781565052023-12-17T10:39:00.000-05:002023-12-17T10:39:31.392-05:00The Gift of Anger Written Spring 2021 I think you need to sit with your anger for a bit. I know you’ve seen how anger can destroy whole worlds and you’re scared at how she brews in you, so instead of examining anger you have denied her existence with a false smile and flighty hands. But I think you need to sit with her. Sit with her. You won’t move forward until you do. You can hide for a whileEmilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-47523421676728550682023-12-16T08:39:00.054-05:002023-12-17T22:07:45.130-05:00It's Been a Minute I haven't written here in years. I have written much in years. Well, that's not entirely true. I raged in my journal every few months. I participated in a writing mentorship where I...raged in every assignment given to me. My Notes app is filled with paragraphs and one-lines and sometimes even just a few words of, you guessed it, rage. My body has carried it in a multitude of waysEmilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-53195114337429960472020-06-01T12:16:00.017-04:002023-12-18T10:47:47.905-05:00Church, are we Love or are we just wasting everyone's time? Today this is not for everyone. Today this is for a specific people. This is for a people who say they have been set apart. This is for a people who say they were not meant for this world. This is for a people who hold holy words in their hands and hearts, who kneel at the bottom of a rugged tree, who said not my will but Yours. This is for a people who are speaking with their mouths Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-41773903341775537642017-10-17T15:38:00.000-04:002017-10-17T16:00:45.512-04:00#Metoo and Why We Don't Get to be Surprised
Yesterday, the hashtag #metoo went viral. A rally cry for
those who have suffered sexual harassment or abuse, social media flooded with
the stark reality of the sheer number of people (mostly women) who have
experienced this horrific injustice.
As Dan and I talked about the hashtag while we got ready for
bed I made the comment, “Almost every woman can make that claim.” That’s crazy,
right? Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-73538468519630677912017-07-17T14:13:00.001-04:002017-07-17T14:13:20.551-04:00The Amazing, Disgusting Miracle of Children. Let me tell you something about kids.
They are beautiful, smart, miraculous creatures. They're always learning and soaking up information. They give the best, albeit slightly sticky, hugs. Their humor consists mostly of nonsensical knock-knock jokes, but I guarantee you there is nothing funnier on the planet. Their bar for what constitutes as amazing is basement level low. You could put a bow Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-78246153758640506642017-06-16T15:46:00.000-04:002017-06-16T15:49:32.008-04:00People Pleaser
I have been a people pleaser my whole life. I genuinely want the people around me to be happy, to be content, to have peace. I want to help cultivate that in their lives, even if in small ways. But I also know that I don’t do well
with tension and conflict, and the easiest way to avoid these things is to make
sure the people around me are happy. I know, it’s super healthy. I don't want people toEmilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-36610684013147139292017-04-17T14:55:00.003-04:002017-04-17T15:19:21.602-04:00Some People Just Like to Watch the Toys Burn. In the on going case of Matthew Slater vs. His Mother's Oven, I submit more evidence for the jury's consideration.
(Please note that no names, conversations, or melted utensils/toys have been changed to protect the crazy, as the people involved couldn't make this nonsense up if they tried)
Exhibit A: The mother's desperate plea for the vacation that seems so close, yet so far away.
The Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-58430008238765087622017-04-07T00:00:00.000-04:002017-04-07T00:00:24.404-04:00The Hidden Gift of a Hard Year
“I’m going to die someday.”
Dan and I were out to dinner a month back, and he asked me
what had been on my heart lately (swoon! Fellas, ask your ladies this often.
Then get comfortable for the next two to ten hours). This party starter was my
response.
“I’m going to die. You’re going to die. What are we doing
with our lives? I’m terrified we’re going to wake up in twenty years and still
beEmilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-92084781468612289652017-02-01T23:27:00.001-05:002017-02-02T11:52:07.910-05:00Overcoming the Fickle Heart
I usually read the above verse and think of all the ways I need to protect my heart from the world. I need to be mindful of the shows I watch, the books I read, the music I put on in the car. I need to be careful of the people I choose to have in my life and the places where I spend my time.
These are all obviously good things to be aware of, please don't misunderstand me. Being Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-82337893566116118902016-09-22T23:39:00.002-04:002017-05-05T14:31:09.652-04:00I Had a Baby and My Push Present Was Postpartum Depression.
(For a real-time feel
for this piece, please go pace around the room you’re in, text GIFS about your
emotional state to your significant other, and scour the internet for the idiot
who came up with the term “Baby Blues,” who you know has to be a dude because
no woman who has ever experienced the reeling post-partum months would describe
them as something as patronizing as “Baby Blues.” For addedEmilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-26758287183246491022016-09-02T23:02:00.002-04:002016-09-02T23:02:49.762-04:00The Sacredness of Women Friendships A while back, I wrote about the importance of community. That group of people who pick up your slack and fill in the gaps; who, sometimes, are the only reason you feel like you can push onward towards another day. This village is priceless and essential, not only for families, but for everyone. Married, single, parents, the childless, old, young--you name it, they need a village.
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-4805515036102789392016-07-21T16:44:00.001-04:002016-07-21T20:59:28.339-04:00Figuring out life with four (warning: there will be yelling and crying)Let's quickly get past the fact that I've been MIA here for the last few months. I was massively pregnant, then massively pregnant and angry because I was still massively pregnant, and then all of a sudden I was in charge of keeping four kids alive.
Four. Kids.
Guys, four kids is bonkers. I don't know how else to say it. In fact, that's a good chunk of the reason why I wasn't writing here. I Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-46024195045313616032016-03-17T11:51:00.002-04:002016-04-10T08:12:16.529-04:00In Accordance with the Laws of Parenting
In accordance with the Laws of Parenting, the following list must be fulfilled in the 24 hours before one or more parents can leave on a trip sans children.
Children must start to sense parent's impending freedom and collectively start to lose their minds.
Children of home-schooling age must start to react to their school work as if it literally burns their very souls to be near it. Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-30132122719824210602016-01-11T22:05:00.001-05:002016-01-12T01:28:22.010-05:00People Who Acknowledge One of the things I clearly remember being taught as a child is manners. I was to call adults "sir" and "ma'am", and never call them by their first name unless I was invited to do so. When I needed to get the attention of my mother who was already engaged in a conversation, I was to (politely, never screaming) say "Excuse me" and then wait until I was addressed to speak.
And I was always, alwaysEmilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-86806412541270521202015-12-31T17:29:00.002-05:002015-12-31T17:37:45.744-05:002015: The Year of Just Doing It. At the end of last year, I hit a breaking point. The every day ins and outs of being a stay-at-home mom were starting to wear on me, a thick itchy sweater that I couldn't take off or find peace in. I was frustrated and restless, and I knew I needed to find something outside of the identity of "parent" to channel my energy. I even knew what I wanted that something to be. The only feeling bigger Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-81644133561655658622015-11-24T16:18:00.001-05:002015-11-24T17:13:43.786-05:00AGAIN
If you had told me eighteen months ago that I would be pregnant
AGAIN, less than a year after my youngest had been born, I would have laughed
in your face. And possibly hit you (but that would have been the pregnancy rage
hitting you, and I’m sure I would have felt badly about it. Sort of).
If you had told me eighteen months ago that not only would I
be pregnant AGAIN less than Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-17960006217134293412015-10-26T21:57:00.002-04:002015-10-26T21:57:56.727-04:00An Absentee Blogger Heeeeeey. Remember me? The writer of this blog who was all "I'm going to write twice a week!" and then "Once a week! Count on it!" then "At least once every two weeks" until finally the dark days came and it was "See you in six weeks, buh-bye now" ?
Oh, hey.
I would like to present my case for Reasons I've been an Absentee Blogger:
Exhibit A: Books
Just stacks and stacks of books. LogicallyEmilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-3609485631115957712015-09-14T22:31:00.002-04:002015-09-14T22:31:14.519-04:00Home School: The First WeekElla, talking to Dan at dinner tonight: "I did so good in school today, Dad! I didn't cry once!"
It took a full week of home schooling, but on the sixth day Ella made it through all five subjects with nary a tear in sight. Last week's crying was sponsored by:
Math (double digit addition)
Math (double digit subtraction)
Mom's inability to find seeds anywhere to do the "make something grow!" Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-82569117646332320572015-09-03T15:15:00.001-04:002015-09-03T15:15:08.110-04:00The last two weeksI hadn't really intended to take the last two and a half weeks off from blogging, but here we are. I wasn't feeling overwhelmed by it (even after the 5 posts in 5 days challenge, which actually turned out to be easier and more fun that I had anticipated), but I also wasn't constantly itching to write another post. Usually I get sort of panicky if I haven't written anything in a while, but these Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-67631716598558241692015-08-14T23:53:00.002-04:002015-08-14T23:53:33.058-04:00A follow up to "The Voice" post (and being a giant mess)A few months ago I wrote this post about the evil, ugly voice residing in my head. It was born out of a very real place of fear, and came after days and weeks of feeling depleted and frustrated. I was so sick of the self loathing that kept me from being productive that I just dumped all of the raw emotions I was feeling into a post, hit publish, and said "good riddance, dummy!"
It wasn't Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2630537901822910882.post-42010455952676131142015-08-12T12:38:00.002-04:002015-08-12T12:42:02.368-04:00Five Posts in Five Days (nothing could possibly go wrong)Dan is currently on his way down to Chicago to spend the week with our church youth group at Jesus People USA. They'll work in soup kitchens and shelters, showing the love of Christ in a very real and tangible way to the people there. I am home (because Matty refuses to just take care of himself already. You're almost ten months old, kid. Time to get a job and stop living off the man. Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06139808004834556626noreply@blogger.com0