"Back to Work"

I was mindlessly trimming the branches off the deck rail, when I saw it fall. It was perfect. Freshly completed. Intricately fashioned. A beautiful bird’s nest. Knowing the amount of tiresome toil that went into the making of it, my throat closed up and I choked back tears. The work of a mother. Often unseen. So much of it unappreciated. And on the ground at my feet, this mother’s labor lay. I could barely bare it.

Washing dishes that evening, I saw the delicate cardinal return. She jumped in the hedge and back out again. Over and over. It was beyond difficult to take in. And finally, with a heavy heart, I watched as she jumped out for the last time and flew away.

Back to work. No rest for the weary.

From one mama bird to another, I see you.

And though I worry, fret, and complain more than I care to admit, in this moment, I join you in your strong and unfailing song.

“Work is a blessing. God has so arranged the world that work is necessary, and He gives us hands and strength to do it. The enjoyment of leisure would be nothing if we had only leisure. It is the joy of work well done that enables us to enjoy rest, just as it is the experiences of hunger and thirst that make food and drink such pleasures.” 

-Elisabeth Elliot

"Battle Scars: My Gray Hair Journey"

I had just celebrated my 27th birthday. Titus was 7 months old. Just three, raw months before, my world was shattered…

My husband had passed away in December. With our baby in my arms, I entered into a realm of survival. It took weeks for me to weep. My heart was like a frozen ice cube, and though it hurt with every beat, I was running on auto pilot and gritted my teeth through the pain. Winter was suffocating that year. It was isolating. The cold drifts sent chills through my whole body and awakened me in the night with terrorizing shivers. Those first few months are a blur to me. I felt lost. My identity had been wrapped up in the relationship I had with my husband. We dated in high school and all through college. We were married for 4 and a half years. Michael and Brooke were a team. They had plans. A lifetime of them. We were going to take on the world together. But, cancer. It blew in like a hurricane. It crashed into our lives with terrifying force and busted through windows we thought were sealed shut. It flung open doors we never thought we’d see opened. It ripped the roof off our security and left us feeling vulnerable and exposed. Our deepest fears became our reality. Our dreams were severed and our future went up in flames. The stench was hard to bare at times; yet it was the only air we could breathe. So we kept trusting. We kept clinging to the promise that "one day Jesus would make all things new.” We kept fighting. And we kept breathing. Until one day, one of us stopped. My heart caught in my throat. Peace filled the room. His fight in this world was over. 

Then, spring came. It was March of 2011. The ice in my heart was thawing rapidly and the painful throbbing was increasing daily. Who am I? Who is Brooke without Michael? What is the life of a widow supposed to look like? How do I keep surviving when he didn’t? How do I raise our son without him? Will my relationship with others change? Will the sad looks from good-meaning people ever vanish? Can I just stay home and hide away forever? These questions came without answers. Even still, one thing rang true.  And this truth is what I clung to with a white knuckle grip: God is good. Always. In the peaceful calm and in the raging storm. 

I was in a hotel in Fort Worth. My niece had just been born and we were there to meet her. After I laid Titus down for his nap, I snuck quietly into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. Although it was a familiar face staring back, I didn’t recognize myself fully. My eyes seemed more sunken, lines in my face were starting to appear, and a couple of silver sparkles caught my eye from my hairline. I dug into my travel bag and pulled out a box of hair color. I had been carrying it around with me for awhile. But, it was time. Time to color the grays. It was the only way I knew how to preserve the youth I no longer felt. 

A close friend asked me how I was doing not long after Michael passed.  I answered, “In all honesty, I feel like I’m an old lady living in a 26 year olds body. I feel as though I’ve already lived a lifetime.” 

And yet, I hadn’t. I still had life to live. So, I colored my grays that day in that hotel room. I watched the brown color run off my hair and into the drain and I felt sadness. My true hair color was gone. So much had changed. So much had been lost. Grief tends to wash over a mourning soul in the strangest and most unexpected ways. It engulfs its victims and often leaves them gasping for air. 

For 10 years, I continued to color my hair. It was subconcience, really.  It was just something I did. It was what I was supposed to do, right?

But then, 2020 came. A year that made us all re-evaluate our lives. We were stuck in our homes and in our heads and the days passed into months, and the months kept coming. It was brutal at times. Scary at others. Fun and enjoyable for the most part; yet heartbreaking when news of suffering and violence spread and when sickness and death hit close to home. 

This past March, I turned 37. The month before, my husband Bryan and I celebrated our 6 year wedding anniversary. We met 7 years ago, on February 21, 2014, at an information meeting at the radio station he worked for. I had won a trip to Israel, and he was going too. Exactly one year later, we were married. In that same conference room. At that same radio station.

Bryan adopted Titus. And 3 more kiddos have been born since. Silas came in Dec of 2015, Elias came in Oct of 2017, and little Lois was born this past July (a beautiful gift in the middle of an uncertain year).  

Who am I? I ask again. I’m married…but am I also still a widow? I grieve, but can I still be happy? Should I keep my eyes forward or will they always be drawn to the rear view mirror? Will anxiety always take my breath away and leave me feeling spent and weary? Am I living my purpose? How do I live fully in the moment and breathe in and out contentment when things around me are chaotic and child rearing is difficult? Will I always lash out at the ones I love the most when things get hard?

I’ve come to realize though, that even though I’ve questioned my identity over these last 10 years, I haven’t questioned God’s. He is good. And Jesus is life. He is contentment. He is joy. When I breathe in and out His presence, I can stop striving. I can stop questioning. I can stop worrying. And I can find my security in Him. 

I made the decision to ditch the dye this past November. My reasons being: One, I don’t enjoy dying my hair. (Like. At. All.) And I’m too low maintenance to have a professional do it every month.  And two, I was super curious about what my hair color actually looked like now that more grays were present. I asked Bryan at that time what he thought. I asked him if he would be okay being married to a gray haired lady. I’m not sure his response was what I was looking for, but it was exactly what I needed to hear. He said “Aren’t I already?” After recovering from the shock of his statement, a clear realization hit me. I have gray hair. And that’s not a mistake. It is what it is. It is me. I had no idea, however, that this decision would lead me down an identity journey that would completely shake my world. 

Some may assume, when looking at my grays popping through, that I have let myself go. 

But in reality, by ditching the dye, I feel as though I’m finally finding myself. 

I’ve pestered Bryan endlessly trying to find his honest opinion about my grays. All he does, is look at me and smile and says, “Just do what makes you happy.” He is such a patient man and his life is such a gift to mine. His love makes me love deeper and fuller. And his outlook on life has changed my perspective on so many things and in so many ways. He’s literally taught me to stop and breathe deep and he reminds me daily that it’s ok to laugh and to keep things simple; for we have a simple faith in a very powerful Savior. 

Although my Enneagram 4 self may continue to question my identity and purpose, who Christ is, is most important. And He is good. Always. In the peaceful calm and in the raging storm. 

And when our hair changes from brown to gray, He is good. (And if we choose to let those grays shine, He is good. And if we choose to color our hair for our entire life, He is still good.)

Another silver sister said of her own hair journey…“I’ve been through a lot and I feel as though I’ve come out a warrior. And my hair. Well, my hair is my battle scar.”

I love that. We’re definitely warriors in this life. And we all have battle scars. 

       “My marks and scars I carry with me to be a witness for me that I have fought His battles.” John Bunyan (Pilgrim’s Progress)