My hands smell like bleach cleaner. I’m wearing dry fit pants and a tank top, sunglasses indoors and enjoying the luxurious necessity of blogging on a Wednesday afternoon.

Yesterday, June 3rd, was the one year anniversary of my life without formal employment. The beginning of investing every moment in my legacy – my children and my family. I woke that morning with the image of standing on the edge of a great canyon and this time in awe of the wonder before me. I actually get to do this – everyday – something that I was certain I would never want to do. Well, that in particular is a blog post that merits its own time.

This post parallels on some of the life I’ve lived this last year. The best I can offer in summary of those three hundred sixty five days is to say that it was a year of jagged learning for myself and my husband. For those of us who love the Lord Jesus, we know that phrase “year of learning” really means it was extraordinarily hard in so many shades. And that too is another blog post that merits attention.

This post touches mildly on the coming out of that gray veiled stumbling. My third son, Colin, was born just thirty some days ago – a deep delight to me, his brothers and his daddy. Within moments of his birth – also a story unto itself – i could feel the fog rising off me. To say that pregnancy was the cause of my frayed feelings this past season is a simplification and oversight, but truly the physical toll of being part of creation does take its place. Particularly for me – a high energy, achiever, list maker – to feel like I only have the base package of energy and that it will last from 9am to noon and then I’m shot for the day – its like a millstone. Ryan Kinder’s, “Kiss Me When I’m Down,” embodies how I see this last year – and how I look to my husband, my best friend, for his love through it.

Now that Colin is here I feel as though I’m beginning to rejoin the human race. Possibilities, opportunities, colors are all more clear. Even food tastes better. There’s just one thing:

I can’t altogether remember what it’s like to be me.

Sure some things are the same: I must have a giant cup of personality (blazingly strong coffee) in the morning – black or maybe with vanilla soy. Red wine just makes sense as does red meat. Country music loud, shoes just as loud, and parties. But other things I recall as you would paintings in a museum – remembered because you saw them once, but not because you feel them. I know I’m tenacious because my college friends said I was. I know I’m type A because I own two label guns, my closet is organized by color with matching hangers and as a kid, I’d get in trouble for reorganizing the linen cupboard when I was supposed to be doing the laundry. I know I possess the gift of communication, but only because my sweet friend, Chelsea, says I have poetry in my words. But to me, I often feel like I’m learning to speak for the first time like a kid driving stick. I’m an extrovert living as an introvert – the life of the party who forgot to RSVP.

So a few nights ago, sitting on the edge of our bed, I asked my husband, “Will you remind me of myself? I’m coming back, slowly.” I am deeply grateful for that man. Sometimes I’m jealous of myself that I get to be his and he mine. That I get to introduce myself as his wife and walk next to him. And of all the people who could serve as a mirror for me, he will most gently reflect who I am so I can relearn as I stumble along. And together in Christ, we can look for who we are going to be. Until we have faces that reflect Him most perfectly.

Deep breath. Deep relief. One foot in front of the other.

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