Contributions.

Savoring every bit of these mornings with these beautiful creatures and absorbing the impact motherhood can have for generations to come.

 I spoke at a women’s conference this past weekend and, as I was gathering statistics and research, I was reminded of a quote I’ve heard over and over, but the whole of its meaning hit me right in the heart, ‘Your greatest contribution to the kingdom of God may not be something you do, but someone you raise,’ by Andy Stanley. I like to think, as parents, we are perpetually showing our kids what Love looks like. Not just in the sense of how to love our family, but in a greater capacity of how to love the world. 

The importance of differences.
The opportunity to grow by getting to know and becoming friends with people who don’t look quite like we do.
Listening.
Learning.
Advocating for what is right.

Maybe, if I am all consumed in raising children while actively showing them what true love looks like, my contributions will be far greater and the impact will reach exponentially farther than than just the lives inside our four walls

Restore Place

We don’t do this. 

Walnut Street Pedestrian Bridge with Art Museum in background.

We rarely have date nights, let alone two nights away from our kids. 

Walnut Street Pedestrian Bridge

We don’t leave the life of parents of four. And we definitely don’t take a break from the title of special needs parents. But a couple weekends ago we did, and it was been beyond therapeutic. 

The Mad Priest Coffee Roasters 

A weekend full of baked goods, coffee shops, full bellies and wandering about Chattanooga, just the two of us. A slow paced weekend of uninterrupted conversations and no unbuckling of carseats is exactly what we needed, and Restore Place made that possible.

Niedlov's Breakworks

Restore Place, Inc speaks to the heart of special needs ministry by showing great love and validation to caregivers by providing time away from the stresses that can all too often seem overwhelming. They gave us a two night stay at a far fancier hotel than we are used to staying in, pampered us with gift cards and goodies, and simply gave us time to be nothing more than a couple.

Milk and Honey

 To nurture the soul of children with special needs is more than just meeting their physical needs, it’s equally about meeting their emotional needs, as well; and it’s hard to nurture someone else well if your own personal wellness tank is empty.

The Chattanoogan

 We are thankful for this inspiring family and this ministry they provide. Check out their website, www.restoreplace.org and if your heart is led in the way of special needs children, consider donating to such a wonderful cause.

Dear Ten Years Ago Me.

Dear Ten-Years-Ago Me,

I’m not sure you’d know who I am if you saw me in the store today. 

Although we’d probably not be shopping on the same aisles anymore, I’m sure you’d see me. At least you’d hear me coming. I mom so hard with 4 kids in constant tow. 

While you’re casually browsing the size 4 dresses, sporting your new shiny diamond, I’ll be checking out the facial moisturizers and reviews on amazon for under eye concealer. It’s really been since kid #3 that I depend on that last one to resemble a human. 

If you saw me you’d probably judge me for something. Whether it be the number of kids, the sheer volume they’re emitting, or how my hair appears to not have been washed in (let’s not count how many) days. *spoiler alert: it hasn’t. 😬

Dear Ten-Years-Ago Me, 

The plan you have in your head for how your life is going to unfold is admirable. It’s a great plan, really. Maybe the Peace Corps. Two kids, max. Special Education teacher. A few mission trips here and there. Completely go-with-the-flow, don’t stand out kind of life. 

I see you looking at me with a look of wonder. How could things not turn out this way? You’re not asking for much. It seems pretty simple. 

But then life happens. You’re gonna graduate college. Get married. Learn about so many things, that up until now, you’ve been sheltered from. 

Friends will have miscarriages. Infertility issues. Failed adoptions. Loss of houses during an unfortunate recession. There’s a lot of growing up that happens in the next few years. 

As you’re learning that plans are good, but remaining flexible is key, a battle is coming. A faith tester, a prayer maker, a life-changing, plan wrecker is coming. 

A journey your heart has been preparing for ever since you thought that boy majoring in special ed was cute and decided to switch majors. Funny how decisions are guided that way. 

Life will not look like the picture you have in your head. There will be more kids, more heartache, more beauty, more love, more of everything you’ve only had a taste of up until now. 

I’m not offering advice, I’m merely reminding you that you’re strong enough for these battles. You’re worthy enough of this beauty. You are graceful enough to see the world and understand that we are all doing the best we can with the hand we are dealt. You’re capable of judging less and shining a brighter light more. 

Coffee is your friend. Kids are hard. Your husband is learning to re-evaluate this life path, too. Treat him kindly. 

It’s a beautifully, bumpy ride. Hold on and enjoy it. ❤️

Post-Hiatus Introduction

Hello (almost) 2019! Where did you come from?

Oh how the years fly by.

To say it has been awhile could be quite the understatement. My fingers have yearned to feel the keys beneath them for quite sometime, but life and chaos seems to get the better of me. Everyday life seems to push the peaceful clicking sound to the back burner as it demands me scurry off to make more cheese quesadillas. {Because let's be real, it's the only thing all the kids in my house eat.}

Here's to a little post-hiatus introduction:

In the time that I've been away from this sacred space, a lot has happened. What once was a family of four has transformed into a family of 6;  I've grown two more humans! Two tiny creatures that are unique in their own, sweet and salty, ways - filling my days with lots of hugs and hits and demands for food and grace.

I have a few more laugh lines. A few more worry lines. And a whole heart-full of more love and crazy than I know what to do with.

We've moved from our beach home in Florida to a spacious green house nestled right in the middle of a spectacular oak forest. We've gained chickens, friends, and confidence with this move, and are figuring out how to live the homesteading life - while learning how to balance it all.

The beautiful man builds everything with his hands and the kids are following suit - wanting to be just like him. He welcomes them into his shop, as he teaches them the safety behind the hand tools and reminds them to not take the nails with them when they leave. They cause flat tires. Several of them.

Sister Ellery, 7, remains my favorite girl in the whole wide world. She knows it and loves it. This spunky 1st grader absorbs information like none other and can get lost in just about any book, especially ones about dinosaurs. She loves waiting under the mistletoe for us to come cover her soft face in playful kisses. She's smitten with Arlo and tells me how thankful she is we had him, just about everyday. 

Elam, 5, is in kindergarten and rocking it. His personality is so shiny you need sunglasses to block some of his glow! (Okay, maybe that's not a saying, but, hey, if the shoe fits.) He rarely meets a stranger and says he wants to be a doctor when he grows up. He'd make a great one. He doesn't let a set of wheels hold him back -- he lets it set him free. 

Avett, 3, jumps off couches, bumps his head, and keeps on going. He's a joy and he's a boy. Full blown boy, meeting all the boy stereotypes without backing down. He loves trucks and tractors and Paw Patrol. He loves fiercely, gives tight hugs, and wants to be just like his dad.

Arlo, 4 months, smiles and giggles, and wants to be anywhere Ellery is. He's the icing on our cake. He completes us in ways we didn't know we needed and brings us so much unexpected joy. 

We've grown and changed and packed a lot of life into these last few years. I can't wait to see what comes next. Meanwhile, we'll keep loving on these sweet kiddos, doing our best to model grace and humility - with a splash of humor to compliment it all. 

Our day of Survival.

It's our love day.

Our happy day.

Our thankful for everything day.

But more specifically, today is our 'thankful for Elam' day.

You see, it's been 4 years. Four years since our hearts were at their heaviest. Four years since we rallied ourselves to make the hour drive to Jackson, MS awaiting confirmation on our darkest fear. It's been four years since the reality of "Your will, not mine, Lord." 

And it's been four years since we heard those happy words, "Your son has spina bifida."

There is a lump in my throat today. One that is there on occasions like this that so guiltily reminds me how much I have to be grateful for. 

If you're just joining our story, if you're not really sure why we'd consider Spina Bifida "happy words," I'll catch you up. 

You see. Four days before, we were told we were having a boy. A sweet boy who was struggling inside of me and there was nothing I could do to help him. A precious son who would probably not live more than 24 hours after birth. We spent a weekend crying huge salty tears from the depths of our very broken hearts, wondering about funeral plans. 

For the entire story, click here.

So, you see. Today is a lovely day.
A day in which we celebrate and go out of our way to keep the mood light and happy.
Today, we celebrate life.
We celebrate differences.
We celebrate wheelchairs.
We celebrate Elam.

From the outside looking in, today doesn't look much different than most. There are no fireworks or balloons. There aren't any special songs or gifts. Instead, there's just a lot of being intentional and a lot of saying yes.

"Yes! I'll hold you!"
"Yes! I'll lay with you!"
"Yes! You can stir the brownie batter AND lick the spoon!"

Less of 'Give me a minute." And more of, 'These chores can wait."

You see. Its easy to get wrapped up in the stresses and messes of the day to day life. It's easy to dwell on the hard when your back aches from lifting and your head hurts from juggling the very big emotions of three young kids. But today. Today is our day of survivial. Our day that helps us remember the gifts of this life and - oh how sweet those gifts are!

Happy Elam Day, everyone. I hope you find as much joy in today as we do!

Wake up, sista!

A girl just wants a nap. 

Brother just wants to play. 

A day in the life of older sister struggles. 

14 cents of happiness.

It's the simple things. 

Like these 14 cent hearts from the clearance aisle. 

The kiddos love them! They've been playing nicely for an hour, meaning I love them, too! 

Happy Wednesday!

Dear mom on diagnosis day: Spina Bifida.

Dear Mom on diagnosis day,

This post has been in my draft box for about a year. I write it. Rewrite it. Then delete it again. There are no words that can help you. No words can heal you; not today. But here's what my heart wants to tell you anyway:

You, sweet friend, are thought of everyday. You're in my thoughts. In my memories. And in my love. I think of you. 

I think of you when I remember this day.
I think of you when I look at my sweet son.
And I think of you when I look towards the future.

But today, more than anything, I love you. I love you beyond your wildest dreams. I love you because of the beauty that will come from you.

Today, two years ago, I was you.
The tears you are crying, they were my tears.
The confusion you feel, I felt it.
And the guilt. The guilt you hold in the depths of your heart, sweet mama, I know that guilt.

Was it something I did? Could I have done anything differently? These questions cut deep. They're ugly. 

But the truth is simple: my son is exactly who he is supposed to be - and yours will be, too.

Hearing the words: Your son has spina bifida, it's life changing.

You've heard the doctors talk a lot about folic acid. You've heard the statistics. You've been given your options.

Dear friend, now hear me. Hear the words that I hold close to my heart. 

I know the journey you are just now embarking on, and it's scary. It's hard. But mama, please know, it is so worth it. 

These are some dark days - these early days when everything you've been dreaming of seems to be turned upside down. 

But know, you are about to discover that your world, even upside down, is beautiful. 

You'll put on your research goggles. Your life maps will have to be revised. But the journey, this adventure through parenting,  is worth the effort, because that precious life inside of you will amaze you every step of the way. 

As my 19 month old tugs on my pants leg, signing for milk and asking for cuddles from his wheelchair, I think of you. I think of how scared you must be of wheelchairs - because that was me. 

They're unknown. They come with a stigma. 

But what if I tell you, they come with discovery, and learning, and fun? What if I tell you, they are a conversation starter, a friendship maker, a 'cool factor' on the playground? 

Our son has learned more, progressed more, laughed more in the past few months since he learned to operate his wheelchair. He is happy. He plays. He is a normal little boy who happens to have spina bifida. 

Words can't help you today, but one thing I want you to remember. When the the clouds start to dissipate and the sun starts to shine again, remember these words. 

Life doesn't end with spina bifida, a new one is just beginning. 

A hard. Crazy. Emotional. Beautiful. Loving. Unique. Worth it. Life. 

It's yours to enjoy. So enjoy it, because our kids, just like any others, are incredible. 

I love you, dear friend. 

-Casie

Two years ago.

Today hasn't been special.

At least to anyone looking from the outside in.

Today has been one of the mundane, get the housework done, donate a few things here, throw away a few things there.

Lunch from leftovers.

Naps for the kids.

A little whining. A little laughing. A whole lot of contentment. 

Like I said, nothing special.

Except today. Today is life changing for us.

Two years ago, which is hard for me to truly believe, was a fundamentally life changing day for, with prayers and thankfulness, our now family of four.

You see, two years ago, we found out first hand how incredibly fragile life is. We found out that even when you take every precaution in the world, do all of the research, and pray for healthy, some things are just out of our hands.

Two years ago, we were told we were having a son - and he would not live.

There are no flowery words to describe it. No dressing it up or wrapping it in pretty packaging.

It was excruciating. It was terrifying. It was all consuming to the point that breathing literally hurt. 

In midst of the storm, it was ugly. 

But how beautiful the aftermath is. 

Today, there have been things that weren't there on this day two years ago.

There have been laughs!

There has been joy.

There has been sibling love and playfulness.

Today, we are thankful that hugs can help our tears and that kisses can cure our hurt. 

This day two years ago changed our perspective. Our perspective on many things, but mainly our perspective on joy.  

Although the memories are still vivid and the pain can still be felt - we find beauty in them because we know how much joy we could have missed. 

Tonight, in honor of Elam, we celebrated with our favorite local pizza and a scoop of ice cream from the fudge shop downtown. As the sun was setting and Elam was pointing out every bird that flew near, I felt peace. 

Peace, perfect, whole. 

This is where I'm supposed be. This is what I'm supposed to be doing. 

This.

 Elam's mom. Ellery's mom. Justin's wife. 

Oh the joy that we would have missed. 

We are thankful for the hard days because it is only through them that we find unmistakable joy 

Another year has gone.

Dear 2014,

Thank you for such a beautiful journey. 

As this year comes to a close, we look back and smile. We smile, not because it wasn't hard, not because we never became discontent, but because we have seen our lives transformed into ones of hope and love and joy in the small things. 

Our year was full of learning opportunities. We learned to adjust to the unexpected. We've learned to look past the dreariness of an overcast sky and see beauty in the wholeness. And we have learned that our call to love extends past ourselves and our family. 

From start to finish, 2014 was a bumpy road. We have seen our share of disappointments. We have found ourselves throwing pity parties and eating a pint of ice cream while wearing sweat pants (okay, maybe that one was just me). But from this side of the struggle, I can see how the pain changes our outlook, humbles our hearts, and teaches us to look beyond our current situation to see that blessings are not always wrapped up in pretty packaging. 

However, please do not think I mean blessings are always messy or that ours have all been that way. I do not believe that for a minute. This has been a beautiful year of perfectly timed friendships, wonderful new beginnings,  and countless answered prayers for wisdom when nothing else would do. 

2014's beauty didn't come from monetary value, it came from quiet humblings of our hearts - lessons on love and purposefully choosing to see the good. 

Life with a three year old keeps us on our toes. Life with our 18 month old keeps us grateful. And life with each other just keeps us happy. 

Here's to 2015! It's a new year!

Fall Festival

We rode our bikes to the fall festival downtown this morning. Between the petting zoo, jump castles, hotdogs and trick or treating, I'd say this princess had a blast!

First Sunrise.