This was another book that I am SURE I was supposed to read.

I saw or heard about it somewhere and marked it on my goodread’s list, but didn’t have any intention of finding it so soon and actually reading it.

So I AGAIN thought it was strange to see it at the library, not checked out.

I grabbed it, checked it out, and the librarian informed me that because it was new I could only have it for 14 days.

Well, there is NO way that I would finish it in that frame of time, so I told her to just put it back on the shelf.

She asked me if I was sure and internally I felt a hint of

“Just take it home, maybe you’ll get through it”.

So I checked it out and set it on my nightstand.

I didn’t get to it for awhile, a few days passed, and then one night I picked it up.

I read about 3 paragraphs in and I fell in love.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to put it down.

I went back to the library the next week (when it was due) and the librarian informed me that they were updating their system and that everything I checked out lately would be good for another full week.

Their software allowed them to check stuff out, but not to check it back in, so just to hang on to everything for a bit longer.

Are you kidding me?!

How amazing is that, I thought.

So I had plenty of time to finish it and I couldn’t put it down.

I love the way Kelle writes,

I love the warm feeling that her words evoke,

I can feel the love she has for her children and the love her friends have for her.

I HIGHLY recommend this book forEVERYONE, it is truly a beautiful book.

I am so glad that I picked it up, I feel like again the Lord is guiding me to things that I need to read and be uplifted by.

Here are my favorite quotes from the book:

“I pushed. I pushed and watched as the tiniest little body came out of me, arms flailing, lungs wailing…

and then, they put her in my arms.

…and I knew.

I knew the minute I saw her that she had Down Syndrome and nobody else knew.”

I will never forget my daughter in my arms, opening her eyes over and over…she locked eyes with mine and stared…bore holes into my soul.

Love me. Love me. I’m not what you expected, but oh, please love me. 

That was the most defining moment of my life. 

That was the beginning of my story.

And then the room grew quiet and everyone was asked to leave.

 I started shaking. I knew it was coming.

My pediatrician snuggled Nella up in a blanket and handed her to me,

and she knelt down next to my bed.

She smiled so warmly and held my hand so tight.

And she never took her eyes off mine.

I need to tell you something.

…and I cried harder…

“I know what you’re going to say.”

She smiled again and squeezed my hand a little tighter.

The first thing I’m going to tell you is that your daughter is beautiful and perfect.

…and I cried harder.

…but there are some features that lead me to believe she may have Down syndrome.

I suppose it’s horrible to say you spent the first night your daughter was born in that state of agony,

but I know it was necessary for me to move on to where I am today.

And, knowing where I am today and how much I love this soul,

how much I know she was meant for me and I am meant for her,

knowing the crazy way our souls have intertwined and grown into each other.

I can say all this now.

It’s hard, but it’s real, and we all have feelings.

We live them, we breathe them, we go through them, and soon they dissolve into new feelings.

Over the course of the next several days, things just became beautiful.

I cried, yes, but they soon turned to tears of joy.

We will hold our precious gift and know that we are lucky.

I feel privileged.

I feel there is a plan so beautiful in store…and we get to live it.

Lots of things in life we go through aren’t comfortable or ideal,

but they could be so incredibly worse,

and a simple life of comfort does nothing to change us,

mold us, make us into better,

stronger more beautiful versions of ourselves.

And I think somewhere inside, something was preparing me.

 First, let me tell you something about strength.

You can’t buy it, and you most certainly cannot get it overnight.

It is earned, like muscle sinews that grow and fortify over years of hard exercise.

 Second, I wouldn’t say my glass is always half full.

There are days when it’s cracked and leaking,

days when it’s chipped and even shattered.

The chill of sadness was every bit as physical as it was emotional.

*I’ve never heard of this before, but going through it firsthand, it is the perfect description.

You are just cold, shivering, and nothing can warm you up.*

(This was a speech her friend gave her)

Kelle, I know you can’t see through this now, and that’s okay, because you just can’t and you won’t for a little while,

but I can and this makes so much sense to me.

You were made for this role.

You were.

I truly believe you were chosen for this and it makes so much sense.

Hard times are so good for people.

Not everyone gets to go through them,

but the ones who do…. I keep picturing a river with this crazy rushing current.

You can hang on and get exhausted struggling to just stay alive, stuck to that rock,

or you can let go and be carried by where it’s going to take you.

You have to let go.

There’s no going back.

You’re allowed to be sad.

But you are eventually going to have to get up and move.

 Go for a walk.

 Put makeup on.

 Do all the actions that tell yourself you are moving forward with life.

I just want this sadness to go away.

 I don’t want to be that family. I don’t want people to feel sorry for us.

I don’t want Lainey (other daughter) to be sad.

What did I do to her?

(Then her friend told her that there will always be a plus side.)

 “Lainey might not call Nella for her chicken casserole recipe, but she’ll be changed in ways she wouldn’t be otherwise.

 She told me that I was lucky.

that I’d been offered a shortcut to what life is all about when some people search for it their whole lives and never know.

 She said I had a secret-

a secret to happiness and that,

while people may look at me and pity me,

in time I’d feel like I knew something they didn’t.

You know, through pain, you learn a lot about yourself- things you thought you never knew you wanted to learn.

And it’s kind of like those animals that regrow a part of their body- like starfish.

 You might not feel it now.

 You might not even want to grow, but you will.

You’ll grow that part that broke off, and that growing, that blossoming- cannot happen without the pain.

We’re all conditioned by society about what is good, desirable, normal, and what is bad.

The sadness that you’re feeling right now is only because of conditioning.

Don’t let society determine how you feel.

 Don’t let your worries for tomorrow rob your joys of today.

Those tear ducts of mine were truly impressive- fully capable of making tears when you’d think they were done and dried up.

 *I can’t tell you how many times I’ve felt like this lately. I’ll be totally fine and then just lose it and start crying.

I swear, it’s like they come out of nowhere.

There was one day last week though, when I was telling a friend the latest hardship and I DIDN’T cry when I said it!

I saw it as a true milestone.*

Mothers have multiple hearts- one that beats inside them, rhythmically pumping blood up and down, in and out- and one for every child she welcomes.

There is a protective mama bear instinct that dwells within but lies dormant until life isn’t just about you anymore.

Then your joy receptors begin to be stimulated to immeasurable proportions, but it warns you of the pain-

the searing pain that loving a child brings-

pain that sometimes seems unbearable,

like a knife that’s been stabbed and twisted inside you.

I don’t think it ever stops being surreal when you become a mother.

 It’s just this constant state of I can’t believe I have a baby,

 I can’t believe I have a 2 year old,

 I can’t believe I have a kindergartener, 

I can’t believe I have a teenager,

and then one day you wake up,

hopefully not sooner than later,

and ask yourself, “When the hell did I become a grandma?”

I am one of the millions of human beings who experience pain and ultimately grow because of it.

I thought about it just about every moment I had alone.

 I cried while I lathered my hair in the shower.

I got lost in thought while driving alone.

I cried while I lay in bed in the dark at night consumed with what was happening.

*I don’t really have any words for this, except that I thought I was the only one. This describes countless moments for me*

I took my brokenness as an opportunity to once again ask myself what I believed and why I believed it.

“Everything happens for a reason” and “Oh, God knew what he was doing” and my personal favorite, “God chose you.”

While at first I nodded my head in agreement, I was beginning to wonder what that meant-

 that I was chosen.

What do you mean God chose me? 

Why? 

Because I deserve this? 

Because I’m such a freaking good mom that heartache would be the perfect reward?

I could question it,

 fight it,

and surrender to the flag of It’s not fair, or I could learn from it.

And I wanted to learn from it.

I realized I was the only one who had the power to move on and turn our curveball into a home run,

so I did my best to choose my perspective.

Confidence doesn’t always come in surges.

Sometimes- lots of times- it brews unbeknownst to us, building during the times we feel the least confident-

through the tears,

 the questioning,

the self-doubt,

 the begging God to make it better.

Oh yes- we hurt, but

we love so much deeper than the hurt.

It is a rite of passage for motherhood- to worry and to cry.

 We ache when they ache,

and we writhe with distress at the thought that they will,

 at some point in life, be hurt.

 And they will.

Our children will hurt, many times along our journey

, and there’s nothing we can do about it

but love them and hold them and whisper in their ears,

 “Oh, baby, Mama’s here.”

Part of facing your fear is going there.

You have to go there- to the deepest pain of what you fear.

You have to feel it- to hold the hot potato of hurt and know that even if life takes you to that place, you will get through it.

And knowing that not only allows you to let the fear go but it fuels you with a passion to make the best out of what you have,

 to grab the reins and purposefully steer yourself where you want to go.

Pain has a way of pulling you forward to a surprising place of,

 “I didn’t know I had it in me”,

and while you think there is no way you will ever make it through in the beginning,

you do.

Attending the convention may have blessed me with a new fearlessness, but I think the confidence was there all along-

hidden deep within me like a seed under cold, frozen ground.

It was very much alive, just quiet and unrecognized until the right elements were present to force it to bloom.

AND if you conquer a fear you didn’t think you’d overcome, you might just think you’re a rockstar!

Once you become a parent…once you know it’s not just you anymore…

well, you automatically carry around,

 for the rest of your life,

an increased likelihood of having your heart broken.

And it’s a constant fear that we struggle to put to rest.

We can choose to be afraid or we can choose to live.

And I choose to live. 

Because an increase likelihood of having your heart broken also carries with it an increased likelihood of finding yourself the happiest you’ve ever been in life.