…and tomorrow. And the next day.

Life is unfair, friends.

It takes when we give.
It gives away when we need.
It doesn’t explain itself.
It has no rules.
It has no guide.
It is violent.
It is wrong.

God is just, my friends.

He gives abundantly what we do not deserve.
He takes away and we may not understand.
He holds our interests in his hand.
He is devoted.
He is one with mercy and judgment.
He allows the hurt but He does not ignore it.
It does not vanish, His love for us. No matter the hurt.

Life is unfair, the sin that is in it. The corrupt. The violence. The hate. The ignorance. The adulterated existence we are a part of. The blame we put on God, the one who risked more than we ever would be willing to do. He took the blame. He carried that weight, that burden of our emotional ignorance and pride. Yet He still loves us. Yet He is still here.

That.

That is unfair.

That is just so incredibly unfair.

So today, I am thankful. For what I have and who I am despite the cruelty of this world I have endured my share of. I am thankful for a loving God who has shown me unimaginable, unbelievable unconditional love. I am thankful to those who – while they have endured even worse – have allowed themselves to be an encouragement to me and to others. I see you and wonder sometimes why? And where do you get the strength? And the answer is always the same.

God is just.
God is one with mercy and judgement.
He allows the hurt but He does not ignore it.
It does not vanish, His love for us. No matter the hurt.

So today I am thankful. And tomorrow. And the next day.

Thank you, Lovelies. Please be kind, always. ❤

+++

I had been warned – I had warned myself – not to reckon on worldly happiness. We were even promised sufferings. They were part of the program. We were even told, “Blessed are they that mourn,” and I accepted it. I’ve got nothing that I hadn’t bargained for. Of course it is different when the thing happens to oneself, not to others, and in reality, not in imagination. Yes; but should it, for a sane man, make quite such a difference as this? No. And it wouldn’t for a man whose faith had been real faith and whose concern for other people’s sorrows had been real concern. The case is too plain. If my house has collapsed at one blow, that is because it was a house of cards. The faith which “took these things into account” was not faith but imagination. The taking them into account was not real sympathy. If I had really cared, as I thought I did, about the sorrows of the world, I should not have been so overwhelmed when my own sorrow came.

– C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed (pp. 36-37)

ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY!

Well I can’t believe it guys…

The Nashville Wife has been around for ONE FULL YEAR as of yesterday, February 28th, 2019.

O N E + Y E A R

It’s been an interesting journey to say the least. I’m glad I started it and I am going to continue! I’m going to try to get better about posting!

My goals for year #2?

+ Consistency
+ Clearer direction
+ Better updates about life events, less flakiness
+ Read more blogs of others

THANK YOU

THANK YOU to those who have stuck with me from the beginning, to those who read my posts or – heck – even just like it. I have some that actually click “like” on pretty much every single post and I truly appreciate that so much. These people in particular have truly been so kind. Please check out their blogs:

+ iScriblr
+ theceaselessreaderwrites
+ Fractured Faith Blog
+ to both my Mom and my Mother-in-Law who like and comment all the time.
+ and of course to my lovely husband who reads all my blogs, too. ❤

Here’s to 2019!


Thank you, Lovelies! ❤

Our Multiple Personalities

I talk to myself.
All my multiple sides of myself, we have a little chat.

The 5-year old me. The 20-year old me. The present-day me.

As I sit here in my counseling session, I tell my counselor how crazy I sound…

“Aren’t we supposed to come here and get a little less crazy, not a little more?”

My counselor just chuckles to herself, assuring me I am not, indeed, crazy.
I know this, of course.
It’s just, you feel a bit… hesitant.
When you start bringing up issues of the past, the parts of you that were there at the time, they have something to say.
It’s really you. There’s no extra personality in there, per se.

But let me tell you… it’s a weird experience when you sense that part of you communicating to yourself through feelings – emotions – telling you something that happened that you consciously were not aware of.

I’m currently reading The Silent Patient and parts of this book resonates so closely (minus the murderer part). A patient has a psychotic break down, supposedly kills her husband and shuts down. She never speaks another word again. She meets with a new psychotherapist who is determined to help her talk. At their second session, she attacks him. Some don’t believe she is able to be saved with the lack of words but are words really the only way we communicate?

“You call that communication?”

“Yes, I do. Rage is a powerful communication. The other patients – the zombies who just sit there, vacant, empty – they’ve given up. Alicia hasn’t. Her attack tells us something she can’t articulate directly – about her pain, her desperation, her anguish. She was telling me not to give up on her. Not yet.”

That voiceless communication could be anything.
Anxiety. Fear. Rage.
They aren’t just some crazy out-of-control emotion that needs to be tucked away.
This is an unconscious part of you saying:

L I S T EN – T O – M E !!!


I’ve come to accept that if you do not give in to the experience of hearing your silent self no matter how crazy you might feel, you will not truly have the healing experience you seek.

That person you were?
That person has something to say.
You owe it to yourself to listen.
At the time, who you were didn’t have the tools to communicate what was necessary.
The Silent Patient.
That’s who you were.
But not anymore.


P H O T O + C R E D I T: Gulf Breeze Recovery

Hi. I am Me.

I am gentle and I am kind.

My heart is the size of the deepest ocean.

My mind runs swiftly through the fields of tenderness.

My body aches to work the labors of giving.

My soul stretches to the depths only joy can survive.

Yet you do not see me.

You think I am argumentative. You think I’m bossy. 

You see anger.

You see emotion as large as a whale, wanting to swallow you whole.

You see a selfish person, looking out for themself.

You see a shallow, ungrateful soul.

You see someone who doesn’t care about the people most important to me… which, my friend, is you.

Maybe these are not what you see but these are what you show me.

Is it that you really don’t see me? 

Or am I the product of misinformation?

My emotions ran unruly for so many years… but that is not me.

Do you see the person inside?

Or could I be a mirror that holds your own projection…

and when you think you see me? It is.. indeed.. you?

But I am Me.

Hello.


A Quick Note

Thank you for reading my words from the heart! This is about knowing your true self and sometimes it can be a challenge when someone doesn’t see that (or when it feels that way). It is important to be sure to communicate clearly the real you, to always show grace and love and patience to others who, too, are damaged. It is important to not keep these feelings hidden but to have conversations with others about how you feel.

After all, aren’t we all guilty of not seeing someone’s true self? What we’re seeing isn’t always who someone is. Emotions tend to be a byproduct of something deeper.

So love always. Give grace endlessly.

Thank you, Lovelies. ❤

For You, Grandpa.

” And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree

There will be an answer, let it be

For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see

There will be an answer, let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be

There will be an answer, let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be

Whisper words of wisdom, let it be”

Rest easy, Grandpa. Be free, be perfect. Sing your heart out in Heaven and rejoice till we meet again…

Always there to make you smile. Now maybe you can share that smile with my kiddos in Heaven, eh Grandpa? Hug them tight for me and chase them all around!

On January 11, 2019, at 11:55 am (Central Time. 10:55am AZ time) my amazing, crazy grandpa (James Saunders) left this broken world to be with our perfect, loving Father in Heaven. So grateful God was more stubborn than the king of stubborn. If you knew how many times my Grandpa skirted on the edge of death (can you say coded 4 times?!), you’d know the battle God fought to keep this man alive to work on his heart more and more. (Ironic bc it was the heart in his body that kept trying to fail him.)

Thankful my mom who was able to be there in Arizona to hold his hand as he left this broken world to step into a world so peaceful and pure. To fully know Christ, to be perfect in every way, to feel love like never before. Sing your heart out, Grandpa. Sing in the choir of angels and hold a spot for me till we meet again. Oh how I’m going to miss you…

He loved going boating with us on Saguaro Lake, AZ

Love in Action. That was us.

Here is a letter I wrote for Grandpa to be read at his funeral this past Thursday as I was, sadly, not able to go…

It was pretty much love at first sight with us wasn’t it? Ever since I was little, I knew I could come running to you, crying and letting you know just how awful mom and dad were for punishing me when I was bad. You were always there to rescue me with open arms. You made it clear to me where my place was with you which was always high priority. I always felt so loved and so accepted. You made me feel like a princess and that I was someone so important and special to you. I will never forget that and will always be so grateful. 

Coming out and visiting you with Eric and then later when Jackson was born was always the highlight of my year. I would look forward to it for months and it would break my heart every time I went home. I think my record was crying for at least a half hour straight after I left as you were always so close to my heart. You always had and always will have a section of my heart and more than anything, I cannot wait to see you again in Heaven where I know you’ll be waiting.

Thank you for all the memories, all the love. Thank you for teaching me how to drive a sports car on curvy roads (a lesson I still practice), thank you for the most incredible horseback ride of my life, for way way too many karaoke nights but most of all, for being you, as absolutely crazy as you are. I love you. Till we meet again. 

Funny but no. Definitely no one else like you – haha!

Grandpa with baby Jackson (then: 4 months old)

Thank you, Lovelies.

And thank you for your service to this country, Grandpa.

I’m Thankful You Tried

It’s a constant battle between ourselves and the government; who is in charge? Who gets to run what and who gets the say over what should, could, won’t and will be done? 

I believe there can be good in what the government provides for those in need but so often they find themselves caught up in so many rules and regulations that they end up hurting those they aim to help. 

Thank you, but….

Some of you may already know from previous blogs that my son is right where he should be in some areas, well above average in many, but significantly below average in speech. He will be 2.5 years old on Christmas Eve and he cannot say even 15 words. There’s only a handful of words he can say in full without dropping the ending. 

Through the government, bless their hearts, you can get free therapy for your child. In Tennessee, once they age out at 3 years old, they can no longer be provided this service. You can hire a professional speech therapist but sometimes that isn’t even an option (financially) for some families. 

We started this free service back in September (if not sooner). We’ve met over and over and over again with various different people that work in this system and I couldn’t tell you who is who or where they work or what part they play. 

They ask the same questions.
They get the same answers.
They watch Jackson play with the same toys.
They watch how he interacts and it’s…you guessed it… always the same.

 Nothing but wasted time and paperwork, it seems. Meanwhile my son continues playing with children who cannot understand why he won’t talk. They ask their parents in front of us, “why won’t he play?” or “why won’t he talk?” or “He doesn’t talk. I don’t know why.” and my favorite one yet, “I think he speaks Spanish”. (Jackson has his own language and it honestly does sound like a foreign language.)

I’m thankful you tried.

Now, I’m not really upset with the therapist and the case workers. I know they’re swamped. I know they’re underfunded. I know it’s a very thankless job a lot of times. I feel for them. I see you. I hear you. I’m not angry with you. 

What I am? Is a mother who desperately wants her son to tell me what he’s thinking in a way that I can understand. I’m a mother who wants to be able to respond to my son so that he knows I’m interested in every word that touches his lips. I’m a mama bear who’s trying to stay patient and kind because you’re not the ones keeping my son from progressing. 

So while I’m thankful you tried – you’re still trying – to get my son the help he needs, I’m sad to see a good system with good people and good hearts falling short. Maybe there’s no current way to fix it. Maybe this is the best it can be. I sure hope not. I sure hope there aren’t other people out there like us, waiting 5+ months to get any sort of help, knowing they’ll be aging out in 6 months.

I plan to write whomever I can about this. I don’t want other mamas and their cubs to have this hanging over their hearts as well.

If you happen to have any information about this, advice or just encouragement, please feel free to comment below.

Thank you, lovelies. 

Sleepers. When Words are Tired.

Some days the words are tired.

They want to speak, want to be heard but they remain.

They’re sleepers.

They move and drift in a sleep-like state,

Diving in and out of consciousness.

They float in the air and you feel them descend into the cognitive part of your brain,

Only so you’re fooled and then vanish back to the air where they remain once again.

Sleepers.

The words, the ones who want to be heard, they’re tired.



Photo Credit: Katy Kelleher (Artist: Kilian Schoenberger) 

The Day I Got Lost on a Mountain: A Funny Story, Actually.

Once upon a time, I liked a boy…

(yeah, I was totally boy crazy..this is no secret. It was embarrassing.)

It was in Horn Creek, Colorado when it happened 

(…no, not when I first liked the boy… well I mean I guess that’s always possible. But no, no… when I got lost. On a mountain.)

So it was our day to climb the mountain, Horn Peak. My dad + me along with a good sized group of our dearest church family friends. I was pumped. I loved hiking but a mountain?! How cool is that! You even get a certificate at the end which was also cool. I was such a dweeb and I loved myself for it.

So we set out for the all-day hike and my gosh was the air crisp and clear. The smell of pine and wood, the smell of earth; it enveloped the senses. Well… not all senses.  Continue reading The Day I Got Lost on a Mountain: A Funny Story, Actually.