Wednesday, October 12, 2016


I have memories of my mother taking me to the library frequently, especially during the summer. As I ambled through the shelves of books, trying to make the perfect decision, I often paused in the history and biography section of the library. My love for history began early and was fostered by my mom, a voracious reader, and my father, a lover of history himself. I consumed as many books about as many diverse topics as I could, and frequently returned to some of my favorites, including a biography on Steven Spielberg and an account of the Hindenburg disaster. In a teacher's library I borrowed the book Daniel's Story and was immediately drawn into the fictional narrative of a boy living through the Holocaust. I still recall the exact way the book felt in my hands as I learned about this period of history. Years later, I found the same book at a book fair and as my hands touched the cover, I was excited to be able to return to this story. It was the beginning of a journey for me, delving into the history of the Holocaust, and it was to be a long one.

 Fast forward to a summer teen camp field trip to the Holocaust Museum Houston. I had visited the United States Holocaust Museum and Memorial a year prior and recall that I was deeply troubled by how upset I was as I spoke to my mom on the phone, even later that evening. I knew the major themes of the Holocaust and understood the basics of the timeline, but seeing the visual displays of photographs, artifacts, and hearing testimony from survivors was different from reading it on the pages of books from the library. Our group settled into the theater at the end of the tour to see local survivors give snippets of their testimony and each of us felt moved by the stories shared. But I specifically remember our preparation to leave. As we turned to exit the theater, I saw an elderly man in the back of the theater, hunched over, hands in his head, and he was sobbing. My heart broke for this man, this stranger, that, for whatever reason, felt deeply touched by what we had all just seen. My soul was touched and I wanted so terribly to console him in that moment, to connect with him in whatever way I could. I walked away instead, but I feel forever changed by witnessing that one minute, understanding on a deep level that feeling empathy for a man I didn't know in his time of distress was the best lesson I could have taken away that day.

 A few years later, I again found myself at the Museum, this time ambling through their shelves of books as I researched Jewish resistance during the Holocaust for a major paper for two of my high school classes. While the paper taught me a great deal about an aspect of the Holocaust I had never thought of before, I discovered a new found level of love for thumbing through the pages of books, searching for hidden information, and putting it down on paper. The researcher inside of me came alive. Later still, as I prepared for my first year of teaching, my advisor sent an email from the Museum inviting us to apply for a fellowship that May. The Warren Fellowship for Future Educators was an opportunity to learn from world class teachers about many aspects of teaching the Holocaust and Genocide, but also to learn more about pedagogical practices in general. Additionally, we promised resources and, the best part, time with local survivors, including Naomi Warren, who the fellowship was named after. I jumped at the chance to apply, but tempered my expectations, I considered myself until that point as an afterthought, someone that people concluded "Oh yeah, we should have considered her instead" and then shrugged their shoulders and moved on. Imagine my surprise when my invitation to join the fellowship arrived. The week was intense and I was, again, forever changed. To this day I think I am processing parts of that week and I know that I implement aspects of it on a regular basis. To learn these stories and to meet these survivors creates a sense of obligation and duty to attempt to make significant changes in the world we live in. Further, this fellowship opened doors of opportunity in other ways as well. A trip to Israel, a trip to New York, time in other institutes, and FaceTime with countless survivors, educators, and other important members of our mission in teaching the Holocaust would never have occurred without the aid of the Warren family. Thus, I am forever grateful and forever changed.

 Four years ago, when learning about Johnny's diagnosis and condition, my interest and commitment to Holocaust education came to a screeching halt. The burdens I willingly shouldered to teach others about the victims of the Holocaust became too real and too raw as I realized that some of those victims were just like the little child I was growing in my belly. Thinking about the hatred and disregard for their lives and how we may face prejudice, hatred, and discrimination was a lot to take on as I worried about matters of his physical well being. My fragile emotional state, heightened by my own lack of understanding, my growing concerns, and, of course, those ever present hormones, quickly led to my bowing out of my work with the museum.

 God had other plans.


 By chance, a friend of a friend posted a video about the Holocaust on Facebook. Due to the random algorithms used by Facebook, it showed up in my newsfeed and I, naturally, commented and a conversation ensued. Another friend, due to algorithms, saw our conversation and approached me at church the following weekend exclaiming that he had no idea that my knowledge of the Holocaust was so vast. As I told him about my time learning with the museum, he excitedly gave me the opportunity to speak for a group at church. I accepted. This led to another speaking engagement which led to another speaking engagement which led to more speaking engagements. Soon enough, I was fully entrenched in reading and learning about the Holocaust once again. I sheepishly showed people in the waiting room of Johnny's therapy the titles of the books I was reading and watched their eyes grow large as the titles sunk in. I begrudgingly found fiction to take on our vacation this summer after Matt protested that Holocaust history was not appropriate for our time away together. I engaged and opened myself to these opportunities, waiting to see what was in store.

 Last week I signed a contract to do work with the Holocaust Museum Houston. I couldn't ask for a better job right now. I am working with the education department to do research, curriculum writing, and speaking to area schools, groups, and organizations. As I sat in my first meeting last week, I was surprised by how natural it felt and how ready I was for the chance to do more. I forgot what this is like, being entrenched in something that consumes you. As I drove home from that meeting, Matt asked me how it was. I shook my head over the phone, unable to describe the range of emotions and feelings I had. Every historian dreams of the chance to work at a museum and I am grateful for this rare opportunity to achieve a dream I thought was only that. Our work is important and needed, I am honored and humbled to be a part of what is in store.

 I cannot close without mentioning the timing of the beginning of my work. Naomi Warren, the survivor mentioned above for my fellowship, passed away last week. As I began the interview process, I knew her health was failing and was struck by how many doors her family opened for me and how, without my time in each of those places, I wouldn't be person I am today, let alone the educator this position needs me to be. Hundreds of educators have been changed and shaped by their time with the Warren family and that is such an important part of the legacy of the Holocaust. I believe we all carry a piece of her with us, ready to educate, lead, and choose correctly as the situation warrants. It adds to the honor I have in doing my work, to remember the Warren family's contribution to my journey.

Thursday, August 11, 2016


I never thought I would have to live a year without one of my children, let alone did I think I could survive a year without them. Understandably, it feels a little different with a miscarriage than if we had gotten to know the little person we were growing, but it feels a lot the same too. Our love, hopes, dreams, desires, and gratitude for Baby Locke were no different than those we have for our older three. 

If surviving the past year has been a surprise to us, the fact that, in reality, we thrived the past year has been an even greater surprise. But it all points to the child we lost. Rather than waste his or her life, we let the loss resonate and ripple through our own lives in a positive and meaningful way. We improved our health, we devoted time and efforts to our ministries, we poured into the three older siblings entrusted to our care, we spent time doing more and seeing more, and with each passing month we came closer to being the version of ourselves that we always wanted to be. Because God said, "Not now" we worked to better  ourselves in preparation of a day He might say, "Yes." And while that day hasn't happened, we know that taking advantage of every opportunity we've had over the past year has been well worth it. Not that the loss of our child has ever or will ever be worth it, but because the circumstances are what they are, that our life has still been full in spite of. Further, even if He doesn't say "yes", the ways in which we have bettered ourselves, devoting time to tending to ourselves, each other, our family, our friends, and our ministries, that can only serve Him and thus, is worth it too. 

I think about our sweet Locke almost every day. I'm reminded of all the ways our life would be different if he or she was with us on a regular basis. I miss this child terribly. Through it all, God's goodness has been evident. I still laughed and smiled despite my heart breaking a year ago. I still nourished and cherished the kids I have here. Matt and I still worked to comfort and care for one another. And as time passed, the grief lessened. My tear soaked eyes of sadness turned to joy for others who ushered their little ones into this world. My prayers for myself turned to help others in similar circumstances. My racing heart that broke for Locke turned into one that beat more fiercely for those I could love here. 

His goodness is most evident in small ways, a friend with four children, all the same ages as our own, including a boy just older than our Locke would have been. He serves as a gentle reminder of the stages and milestones we would have been anticipating.  Also a friend who has an older son whose birthday is the same as our due date was. He serves as a reminder of that joyous anticipation we had and the love for someone we don't know yet. These two boys together remind me of Locke in the best of ways, that even though I didn't know him or her, that Locke will not be forgotten, which was one of my greatest fears as we lost him or her. Locke is beyond fine, resting in God's presence and knowing only the most complete love. We are thankful for that too. 

We pray we continue to thrive, whether that includes another child or not. We seek God's purpose for our lives and pray that we listen with open ears and hearts to His plan for our family. We praise Him for the blessings and the sorrow, for we know He with us and for us through both seasons of life and everywhere in between. 

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

Milestones for Mommy

I started running in September. 

There. I admitted it. 

It wasn't something I wanted to do, but it was something I very much needed. Our miscarriage left me desperate for change,  change mentally, change physically, and change in my overall attitude. I literally told myself, "If you aren't pregnant you may as well become a runner." 


I am not sure how that logic works, but it did. I fought the logistics for awhile. I told myself it couldn't be done because kids and heat and effort. At the end of each day though, no matter how much I walked or what little exercises I did around the house, it wasn't enough. I have been carrying doubt and what I termed as leftover Johnny weight, but, honestly, some of that weight was gained after he was delivered. At least 15 pounds, if not more.  

Thus, I began. I went slowly and cautiously. I took my walks with a double stroller and added in intervals of jogging. I added in longer jogging stretches. I began waking up early to jog/lumber/run by myself. I listened to my body for distance each day rather than what my preconceptions thought was a good run. I began running longer stretches and actually began to crave it. I added in weights and missed running on the days I didn't do it. I found a few videos (check out YouTube's The Fit Law) that totally met my workout needs on days it was too rainy or Matt wasn't here in the mornings. I stretched longer and longer runs. I didn't talk about it online because I was afraid I would give it up. It was easier to slide it casually into conversation in person than have accountability in "print". 

I saw change. Change in my body. Change in my skin. Change in my sleeping habits. Change in my overall  health. Change in my motivation. Change in my ability to process. All for the better. It's, for the most part, me and the pavement and whatever issues or concerns or prayers I want to bring along. 

It's not easy. It took awhile to be consistent and to work up to longer runs. It took a lot of effort, but every grudge filled step was worth it. Most of my runs are between 2.5&3.5 miles. I set a goal for myself at New Years to run 5 miles in a single run before the end of January. I attempted it today and told myself each step of the way that I was in control. That this goal meant nothing to anyone else but myself. That this was all for me and nobody else had any say in what I did or how far I took it. I got motivated at the end and ran 5.85. 

Then I felt like I was going to throw up and asked Matt to check and make sure I still had legs and a skull. 

I am blessed to have a husband that cares enough for my health that he encourages me to get out for my workouts. It is helpful to have his support. While I would like to work up to pushing a stroller for a 5k, I wouldn't have gotten this far physically and emotionally without the time to myself. I don't feel guilty for making this time. Usually it's before the kids get up and even when it isn't, it teaches them an important lesson that Mommy's health is important too. It makes me a better mom, not just because I have had that quiet time for myself, but also because I have more energy and I'm more likely to do activities with them. We have also been getting out more as a family. Some evenings involve long walks and races and enjoying time together. All for the better again!

I have new goals, none of which involve paying for a race or running anything that ends in "-athon". I still have work to do in the weight department, but I like the progress I've made and that it is with changes I can manage. I'm not punishing  myself by forbidding foods that I love. Life still needs to be lived! I get to go my old wardrobe that hasn't seen the light of day for four years! 

It's a big milestone, or five of them, but I'm looking forward to seeing where the health benefits go from here. 

Monday, January 11, 2016

Putting it Out There

Yesterday we joined some friends at a local burger place that has an outdoor play area for the kids. It was a decent day, the food was great, and the company better. One of the kids we were with adores Johnny and takes him off to play with him any chance she gets. I love her heart for him. As we supervised from across the lawn, we took notice of the other kids running around and all took turns counting to make sure everyone was accounted for. After some time, MacKenzie came over to me and said that a pair of older boys (9 or 10 years old) said that "Johnny walked funny". 

It's a first. 

Our first of many. 

Things have been said off hand to me, by adults. But this was the first time the girls heard a comment made by someone young. It will happen again. It will happen to our faces. It will happen behind our backs. It will be innocent comments like this one. It will also be not so nice insults. 

Honestly, I'm surprised it took this long for our first comment like this. And I'm thankful for such an easy comment to work our way into. I pass no judgement on the boys. I wasn't there to hear what they had to say, how it was said, nor did I know what they meant. And, like I told MacKenzie, Johnny DOES walk funny. Because he is learning how to walk and he is unstable. Are there different ways the boys could have worded that comment to be kinder? Yes. But, I don't think it was a taunt. Not this time. 

I'm thankful because my girl knew enough in her heart that, what those boys said didn't sit right with her and she made the decision to come tell me. We had a conversation about it being ok to observe differences between people, but ensuring that we are being kind about it. We discussed that she did the right thing, listening to her heart to come tell me, and that there will be times I ask her not to worry about it, times that I address it between the two of us, and other times that I talk to the others directly. I am thankful because we are equipping our kids with language that allows them to ask genuine questions out of a thirst for knowledge and encourages them to voice their concerns over injustices (both legitimate and embellished) that they observe. 

I was caught off guard by the whole interaction, not expecting, as I stuffed my face with burger and brisket cheese fries to deal with a milestone of a different kind. But I wasn't sad or upset about what happened. Look at all the victories. The reason the boys even noticed that Johnny was walking funny is because he was trying to walk. The reason he was trying to walk was to play on a typical playground. The reason he was out on the playground was to keep up with friends who adore him and beg me to let him play. The reason we were out to lunch was to spend time with friends who are (along with countless others) walking this journey right alongside us. How could I be upset?

But the biggest part of that, is the fact that he was in a place where he could be observed and interacted with. We put him out there, exposing him to the world, waiting to see what he would do, wanting him to experience as typical of a day as possible. It's a fantastic thing! And part of putting him out there is risking that he may get hurt. He may fall. He may eat dirt. He may struggle. He may fail. He may be "made fun of". For our family, that is part of growing and learning. I would never shy away from a chance for him. Does he need support and modifications sometimes? Absolutely. But there are times when he needs to experience a struggle or hardship for himself. For every offhand comment that is made towards him, there is a chance for an older sister to mature and learn. For every fall, there were stairs or ladders that were conquered. For every fail, there are days of marked progress, small progress, or even just a single step in the right direction. 

I refuse to build castle walls and dig moats around my kids to protect them from the world that exists out there. Instead I work to equip them with the tools they need- strength, courage, bravery, understanding, and communication. I make sure they know they are loved and cherished and send them on their way. 

This was the first of many. There will be harder ones to come. I'm praying for each moment that comes our way. I'm praising God for the great moments we've already had and the many more I know are in store.