Jude Norman Meyer

Jude- Servant of Jesus, The Praised One.

Norman- A faithful servant of Jesus who wanted to meet you so badly, your heritage.

JNM- Just like your Daddy who ADORES you.

Welcome to the world Jude Norman Meyer.

February 21, 2017

2:42 PM, 6 lbs, 11 oz, 20.5 inches

Your Daddy and Mommy have been waiting with great expectation for your birth.  Your sisters could not be more in love with having a baby brother all their own. Welcome Jude Norman Meyer to our family.

Let me tell you the story of our journey to you, sweet Jude. 

We started the adoption process well over a year ago so full of hope and joy and feeling so confident that this would be a quick process. But the road to you was long, full of heartache, and tears, and your daddy and I had to constantly remind ourselves that God had called us to this and that no matter what, we had to keep our eyes on Him. 

The more we discussed your name, the more we fell in love with it. Back in December we went to Tuscon for the holidays and visited The San Xavier Mission and saw candles lit to Saint Jude. The whole way home we were reading about how Saint Jude is the Patron Saint of Lost Causes. Your daddy and I were starting to think that maybe our hopes of meeting you were a lost cause. We took great comfort in knowing that God was writing our story and that our little Jude was not a lost cause. We bought candles and lit them when our hearts were feeling low and desperate and we would pray for you and your mom as we waited for you.

And then one day, when we were the most discouraged about this whole process, we got a phone call that changed the trajectory of our lives forever. Your precious birth mom had picked our family. 

Just like that, you had a story and we let our hearts love you from afar. Just like that, you brought us so much joy and excitement. Just like that, you reminded us that God is writing this love story, and my sweet Jude Norman, it's a good one.

You have changed my heart, little Jude. You have caused me to surrender so much to the Lord and to seek His face like I have never done before. Your little life has been a miracle and we are just beginning- I have felt God whisper over and over, "If you think this is big, just wait. This little one will change the world."

Throughout this process, your Daddy and I have felt called to invite people into this. Instead of keeping secrets and shouldering all of this burden by ourselves like we've done in the past, God kept beckoning us to be bold in sharing your story. He wanted to use your life to point so many to HIM. What a gift it has been, and I think I could confidently say, your story has changed A LOT of hearts. 

And my goodness, do you ever have a fan club. So many people have prayed for you. So many people have supported our family and helped us get to this day. 

Today, your sweet mama signed papers that officially allow you to join our family. I have witnessed her sacrifice and love for you. She loves you fiercely. She wants a life for you that she knows she can't provide and her sacrifice is gut wrenching to witness. She is our family now. You are a boy with two moms and our love for you will never run out. Never doubt that she adores you, never doubt the surrender it is for her to deny her own feelings for you so that you can have more. You are loved beyond words and she will always be treasured and adored and honored in our family as the woman who gave you life.

Adoption is bittersweet. My greatest joy comes at the cost of her greatest sorrow. It's a swirl of light and dark, joy and sorrow, but ultimately it is about love and God's grace in always redeeming the hard and sad with joy and dancing. You are our rainbow after the storm and you are bright and beautiful and just what our hearts needed.

And today, Jude Norman Meyer, we dance. Our hearts are so full they might burst. We adore you and praise God for your life. May you always know your worth. May you feel God's love for you every single day of your life knowing that His plans for you started well before you came into this world. He moved and orchestrated all things for your good and today, we celebrate God's goodness.

WE LOVE YOU JUDE!!!!

Cheers to 32!

Wow, I am 32 today! I feel like just a few years ago, I was bar hopping for my twenty-first birthday. And here I sit in the family room of my own home, with my dog laying next to me and my two precious girls snoozing upstairs. I loaded the dishwasher a few minutes ago without being asked, and I have a smidge more than a $1.72 in my bank account, so I am clearly figuring out this adult thing well.  So much has changed and yet I am still totally the same girl I've always been- wild, silly, full-steam ahead. Everything has changed, and yet everything is still the same.

When I turned 30, one of my best friends told me that this was her favorite time of her life. She told me it was a different milestone type birthday that freed you up to really be who you are and not care so much about what everyone expected from you. She was right. This new decade has come with a lot more boldness to just be me, no apologies or explanation. Take me or leave me....but I'll always be me, so please don't leave me.  I need friends. Like actually need them. Friends are like oxygen to me, and I crave good quality connections more than anything else in life.

But maybe not more than laughter. Good, deep, belly laughing is like medicine to me. I sometimes cover my mouth when I am in public because I want to laugh so much harder than feels appropriate for any given situation. Year 31 introduced me to the Enneagram and it all makes so much more sense. I am a 7 - always ever seeking fun, and I am okay with that.

The Enneagram taught me that the wild and free stirrings I feel deep in my soul are actually God given. So when I need an adventure and doing the mundane things in my life starts to feel like I am suffocating, I am not being irresponsible by giving into the whims that take me here and there.  Rather, I am being me, and it makes God smile.

This year also brought the most intense sadness that I have ever experienced, sadness that might have choked out a younger me. But, I am old enough now and comfortable enough in my own skin to sit with this and let it all out. I am heart broken that my son died. I miss him every single minute of every single day. But, I am still me. I am both the dark, deep sadness that I carry and the light joyfulness that God put in me before I was even born.

This past year brought a level of friendship that I have so desperately longed for.  It brought me women who love me so deeply and walk alongside me no matter what, women willing to sister me even when I am not sure how I feel (my feelings are completely mixed and messy sometimes), women who love me for me (even if I am dark and twisty - an emotional space I am so not used to).

And then there's this sweet guy I am married to. He is just so darn faithful to me. He loves me no matter what. He tolerates my ups and downs and holds me close when I cry. He is my biggest cheerleader and closest friend. Every year gets a little sweeter with him.

A friend this week talked about 'staying in her lane' in regards to doing what she knows she was made to do and not letting other things, no matter how good they are, grab her attention. It has really stuck with me. Most of the time I feel like a total lane changer- "OH! That lane looks fun! Look what she is doing..."  So this year, I am going to focus on staying in my lane and doing the things I know I was made to do while allowing others to do their thing. What a concept, huh? I will not let FOMO get the best of me! For a 7, this is actually mind blowing. Stay in your lane, MB, no matter what parade comes along to grab your attention. I am the Grand Marshall of my own parade!

So here you go 32 year old self. Be kind to yourself. You are doing the best you can. Your car is messy, it just is, but it doesn't define you. You have it together in so many other areas of your life. Let it go. And sometimes you are the Pinterest mom everyone wants to hate on. Whatever. You love making crafts and baking and creating your home. And sometimes you drive by Jewel and grab a batch of premade brownies because playing with a friend was what called to you over going home and crossing another task off the list. Keep running hard after God even when you are out of breath, tired, and sweaty, and you feel like you cannot take one more step. He is moving and you know it, so don't give into the temptation to sit on the couch and watch Bravo until you can go back to bed. Love harder. Be kinder. Give more. People are so much more important than things. Be gracious. Laugh hard in public. Be the most MBizzle you can be and make no apologies for it.

Here's to 32! I have a feeling this year will be one of the best years ever.

Gabriel Aaron

Gabriel Aaron

God is my strength. Light of God.

We first heard about Gabriel on July 20th, 2016. Our first match with our agency was seemingly falling through and our social worker called to tell us another birth mom was interested in our family and was due on October 1, 2016.

We talked and prayed so much about this situation. We were elated at the thought of having a Chicago baby in the fall. We continued to receive situations from our consultant as we waited for more information about this woman and her pregnancy.

And somehow, no matter how promising the other situations seemed, we were drawn back to this baby - our son.

The adoption world works at two speeds - recklessly fast or dreadfully slow. We were in the dreadfully slow category waiting to meet his mom and officially be matched with her.

We prayed for our son for 37 days. We prayed for months and months before that as we headed into this process, but we prayed for Gabriel specifically for 37 days.

We did all the things we were too afraid to do times before. We made a nursery for him and spent a whole Saturday setting it up. This became a sacred space for me. I would sneak into his room early in the morning and sit in the rocking chair and pray for him. I would sit there dreaming about his birth and holding him for the first time. I would imagine what he would look like, how we would announce to our friends that he was here. I dreamed about one Saturday opening my home up to friends and family to come "Sip and Snuggle" our new little guy, muffins and coffee and immense amounts of joy filling my new home. I thought about him being the first of our three children to be welcomed into the "718" and thought about what a blessing our new home would be in this time.

I talked to friends about having a son. We laughed about my all girl world being turned upside down. We talked about travel baseball and entertaining active boys vs. coloring all day on the floor with little girls. We hoped and dreamed with our friends about this baby as we anticipated October 1st with full and open hearts.

And then we met with his mamma. We sat upstairs at our agency's office sneaking peaks at her as she got out of the car and made her way upstairs. We awkwardly hugged, both fully aware that this meeting was big and that we both knew so much about each other despite having never met. It was like a first date...but at the end you get a baby. It went so well and we left excited! She loved us and we were confident she was going to follow through with signing the papers to make him our son. That's what we were focused on - getting past that 72 hour mark where she could officially make him ours. We had no idea we would never even get to that point in this process.

There are certain "what if's?" that all adoptive families think through when they are matched with a baby. What if she changes her mind? What if the father contests the adoption and we have to fight for this? You calculate your risks and think through the possibilities that could go wrong in the time between being matched and that official paper signing.

But we never, in our wildest dreams, imagined that our son would die.

A few days after our meeting, our birth mom texted me and told me that she was concerned because she didn't feel him moving. We made a plan for her to go to the hospital to have him checked out. Being the optimist that I am, I was positive that he was just getting bigger and it was harder to feel his movements in a big 34 week belly. Josh somehow knew though. He tried to warn me and prepare me, but I wouldn't hear it. We spent all day Tuesday (Aug. 23) praying Gabriel was okay and asking God to give us good news.

And then, the dreaded phone call came. Thankfully, our agency knew to call Josh instead of me. But when he saw the directors name pop up on his phone hours after we knew she was in the hospital, he KNEW. No chit chat. He answered the phone with "Is he gone?"

He called me and I knew within one word that my dreams were being shattered. Poor Josh. I wept. Josh left work and his commute home seemed to take 10 years.

The plan was for his mom to go back to the hospital the next day to deliver him. She needed a little time to pull herself together and rest before facing labor. She wasn't sure what she wanted, but everyone around us was telling us that we would probably be better off not seeing him.

But my mother's heart was not okay with that. He was mine too and I felt restless and empty. I cried so much I could barely see out of my eyes. This was painful and awful, but not having a place in this was frustrating and made me feel barren all over again.

I went to bed on Wednesday night exhausted and positive I wouldn't be able to sleep. She had started laboring, but I knew it probably would last all night. I prayed that she would reach out to me if she needed me, secretly hoping she would, while at the same time knowing it would be horrific to be there.

And God, being faithful and gracious to me, even in the impossibly hard, made a way for me to be there.

Around midnight, I got an SOS text from our birth mom. She told me she needed me and couldn't do this without me. It took me all of two seconds to get in the car and head to the city to be by her side.

We talked and talked. Her contractions were consistent, but she was dilating slowly. We cried together, prayed together, talked about our plans for the future. We all feel asleep around 7 AM and about thirty minutes later, she woke me up and asked me if I would help her come up with a name. She had decided she didn't want to name him when she made her adoption plan, but now she felt like we needed to come up with something together. So we did.  In the dark of the hospital room, with our tear-stained faces illuminated by the glow of an iPhone and monitors, it lept up at us....

Gabriel Aaron. Our son. Two mothers completely broken. Dreams shattered.

Around 8 AM, she started to feel like it was time. A whole mess of people came into the room and began preparing. A part of that preparation was the doctor explaining to us what he would look like and feel like. His body had begun decomposing and everyone warned us that it would be very difficult for us to see him and hold him. But we knew we could do this and we knew we HAD to do this. Gabriel deserved to be held and loved and cried over.

I held her hand the entire time. We locked eyes and I told her she could do this, that she was strong and that she was brave. At 8:57 AM, he was born. The stillness and silence of his birth was gut wrenching. We both kept listening for a cry, just a glimmer of hope that a miracle could still happen. But he was silent and lifeless.

They took him away to weigh him and we listened intently as they called out 3 lbs 8 oz. A healthy weight for 34 weeks of gestation.

Then they wrapped him up and had the chaplain come in to pray over him with us. The room was spinning as they handed him to his birth mom. We inspected his little body, wrapping him up and counting his fingers and toes. She called out the family resemblance she saw in his nose and eyes. It was horrifying and hard, but love overpowered our fear and we just kept holding him.

Then it was my turn. She handed me my son. His little body fit in the palm of my hand. I sat in the rocking chair in the stillness and wept over his little body. I told him every dream and hope I had for him and for his life. I told him how much he was wanted and loved and how excited our family was to call him our own and welcome him in. I told him that he had changed me. He showed me the meaning of unconditional love and what it means to be a mother. I told him that I could not wait to meet him in heaven. I told him I was thankful he wasn't in pain even though I was positive my heart might burst without him. I told him I was positive my grandma was rocking him in heaven and that our other heavenly children would be there playing with him and welcoming him into perfection. And then I just spent some time focusing on him in Jesus' arms, perfect and whole.

And then we knew it was time. We got the nurses, kissed him one last time, and prayed together. We had said all the things we needed to say. We had loved him and held him and honored his life. As they took him away, two of the nurses who had been there for his birth came to tell us that they two had babies in heaven as they both had delivered stillborn babies themselves. God's hand prints were all over this tragic morning.

Gabriel Aaron, your little life has changed my life forever. Your Daddy and I will never forget you. You were loved and wanted, and an answer to our prayers. Your life was precious and a gift and even though we are competently shattered that you aren't home with us today, we know without a shadow of a doubt that you are made perfect in heaven and we will see you again.

Rest in peace sweet boy. Rest in Jesus Gabriel Aaron.

Happy Birthday Yocky!

My Dear Sweet Hannah Grace-

Happy 4th birthday my love! I am altogether confused as to how it is possible that my little girl is 4 years old today. But the calendar says otherwise, so today we celebrate you and your life and all thinks pink and frilly and ballet.

You, my dear Hannah, have my whole heart. You are one of the kindest and most thoughtful people I have ever met in my life, and you are only 4. I cannot imagine how you will develop and grow into this gift, but I cannot wait to watch it all happen. You care deeply. You love with your whole heart. I hope you stay that way for the rest of your life!

Watching you grow into a better dancer this year has been one of the highlights of my year. You work hard and focus in class so that you can master every move. You are quick on your feet and graceful. I love to watch you dance. How fitting that you asked your teacher to come to our house to teach you and your friends for your party.

You are bold. You don't shy away from asking for things you need or want. You look strangers in the eye and order food or ask questions. I love this about you and love to see you express yourself in such a polite but direct manner.

You love your friends passionately. You talk about them, buy stuff for them, create dozens of pictures everyday for them. Keep loving your friends. I am learning even now just how meaningful those relationships are. Have LOTS of best friends. Allow people in to see your life, no matter how crazy or messy it is. You need them and they need you. Love deeply and you won't regret it.

Watching you as a big sister is incredible. You love Eden more than anything. Hugs in the morning, smooches at night, reminding the guy at Costco to draw a smiley face for your sister too, you always have her back and I love that about you.

Your passion for worship literally moves me to tears. I love how you wiggle your way into my arms at the start of church and how you sing loudly and boldly. When your little hand flies into the air in worship, I can't fight back tears. I love to see you love The Lord. I pray every single day that you continue to grow in your faith, and be positive of this - your daddy and I will do everything in our power to make sure you know God and know how much He loves you.

Hannah Grace, you came storming into our lives 4 years ago today. STORMING. You turned our lives upside down. We battled for you, and let me tell you, you were worth it. I would walk through fire for you then and now. You are more precious to me than anything in this world and I pray that you know that in your heart today and for the rest of your life. I am your biggest fan and will always be by your side ready to do battle with you, laugh hard with you, hold you when you are sad, and push you when you need to be reminded of how strong you are. I am your Mommy, your cheerleader, your biggest fan.

My world would not turn without you Hannah. Today is one of those days for our family...one of those huge, monumental days where we can't help but thank God for you. We thank God for your special friend who carried you for nine months and protected you because she knew you were worth fighting for. She could have made a different decision. That is not something that me or your daddy take lightly. The choice she made was gut-wrenching but it was also life-altering for YOU and HER and US and we are forever thankful for her and everything she did to make your life matter.

So today we are busy making special treats and turning our house into a ballet studio to celebrate your birthday, but in my heart, I am celebrating your life and everything about you that I love. I am overwhelmed by how much I love you. To think that God loves you even more than I do completely blows my mind. You have captured our hearts and we just want you to know, WE ADORE YOU HANNAH GRACE.

When Christmas Doesn't Feel So Merry

Merry Christmas Eve.

Today while packing up for Christmas with family, I was struck with the overwhelming feeling of gratitude mixed with extreme sadness. I am a reflective person and milestones like holidays always make me think back on my life and the road to where I am today.

Why the sadness? I can remember Christmases past where the pain and longing in my heart for a family of my own was palpable. I felt like my heart might break in half and like I was carrying this massive load of pain and hurt and disappointment. I wanted to be busy sneaking around with presents from Santa. I wanted Christmas dresses to iron and little reindeer pajamas spinning in the dryer. And all I had were doctor appointments, negative pregnancy tests, and giant holes in my heart with each passing month.

We battled. And Christmas, a time centered around family and friends and goodness all around, made me feel even more alone and desperate.

This picture was from the last Christmas before I became a mom. My heart was broken and I was consumed by what I was missing. A friend snapped this picture without me knowing, but it sums up where we were that Christmas. Trying so hard to be okay with what we had going on, all while screaming inside that this was not what we had planned for our lives.

I feel compelled this Christmas to take pause and remember those around me who have lost significantly this year. I had to stop, in the middle of my preparations for this crazy next 24 hours and take a minute to share with you what I know in my heart to be true. God loves you. He sent His Son as a baby 2015 years ago so that you would have HOPE. He is orchestrating things in your life and even though the pain and emptiness is there, I promise you He is in the middle of it with you.

To my friend who is mourning the lose of her babies this Christmas, God sees you.
To my cousin who can't crawl into bed alone after watching her husband die well before he was old and gray, God sees you.
To my girlfriends wishing they had a ring on their finger and a car full of kids this Christmas, God sees you.
To my friend who knows that the baby she is carrying is struggling, God sees you.
To my sweet friend waiting for that 'you've been matched with a baby' phone call, God sees you.
To my friends who are struggling being away from their family this Christmas, God sees you.

If Christmas brings more pain than merriment this season, please know that you are seen, you are loved, and God is working on your behalf, now and always.

Merry Christmas loved ones. Please be kind and gentle this Christmas. Love your friends and family well.

2217

Goodbye 2217.

To the condo that became my home, you will always have a piece of me.

Josh and I closed on our new gorgeous house recently and although we couldn't be more grateful for the space and the potential of this new home, our hearts will always be connected to that tiny little condo - "2217".

That space was not just a house for us, it was a home. We hosted dinner parties, crammed around our tiny little table, wine and delicious food filling the bellies and hearts of our friends and family. We had sleepovers with anyone who would visit us, staying up late into the night laughing the laughs of deliriously tired grownups who just wanted to soak every minute with our guests.

We came home from our honeymoon there, as Mr. and Mrs. Meyer, equal parts happy and terrified about our new titles. We were newlyweds about to live together for the first time, sharing space and time and setting up a home. We dug through all our gifts with excitement. It all felt so new, from my last name to the dishes in my cabinets.

We fought there for the first time, learning how each other reacted to stress and anxiety. I spent a few long hours in my closet, sorting through my feelings of too much new and too much different as my sweet husband waited patiently on the other side for me to emerge.

Dozens of pregnancy tests in the trash.  We said goodbye to the dream of carrying our babies in that condo. We cried together on the bathroom floor, in the bed, in the kitchen, and on the couch in our family room. We learned how to hold each other and process the end of this dream, together in 2217. It was a haven in our storm, a safe space to land after hard doctor visits and painful surgeries.

We welcomed our children home to that condo. First was our beautiful daughter Hannah. We would sit on the couch in our family room with her for hours on end, singing to her, holding her tight, laughing hard at her little squawks and full-faced smiles.

Then our fierce little Eden was born and came home to 2217. She was the exclamation point in our year after so much sorrow and pain. We couldn't get enough of her silky, dark hair and completely captivating brown eyes. We laid with her between us in our bedroom, thanking God over and over again for this gift that we had prayed about for 18 straight months.

The laundry, the dishes, the vacuum that could reach the whole house from one outlet, and carrying bags and bags of groceries with a baby in my arms up the stairs...I loved that little condo and what it taught me for the five and a half years that I called it home.

We turned our kitchen and dining room into a dance floor on countless occasions, shaking our booties and laughing and holding each other close for a quick slow dance whenever we could.

I learned that I could cook in my little kitchen there. I tore through cookbooks, finding new recipes that I just had to try. We had some delicious meals there, and some that didn't exactly pan out, but I learned that I could read a recipe and translate it into something yummy for those I loved. My passion for baking also started there, my red kitchen aid mixing butter and sugar for the dozens and dozens of cookies and cakes that were made with love there in 2217. I learned to love the precision of baking, the science that turns ingredients into masterpieces.

I will miss our tiny little bathtub and the two little dripping heads as my girls played with their toys and learned how to be sisters. It was such a natural transition from being an only to being a sister. There were tea parties and FaceTime dates in the tub in our bathroom at 2217, and I treasured up all those times leaning over the tub, bubbles dripping down my hands.

Two times, I watched my husband get all dressed up to take our daughter to the Daddy Daughter Dance at our church, leaving me a hot mess crying my eyes out as I watched them leave. As I stood on our deck watching them pull away, I knew I had married the best man and father, and I felt both proud and humbled by that feeling.

We would sneak out, baby monitor in hand, to smoke a cigar together on the deck.  We would sit there talking for hours on end about our hopes and dreams and having the "what's next" conversation as we planned for our future. I learned in those moments to listen to my husband and to just be us. We would share sour patch kids and wine and deep belly laughs as we connected, my soul and his.

That little condo might not have looked like much to others, but to us it was a place to call home. I learned how to train my heart to be joyful there, one of the biggest lessons learned in 2217. I worked hard to push away the clouds and choose joy. Not a fake, slap a happy smile on my face joy, but deep rooted pure joy that can only come from God.

I have so many memories of that perfect little space that I will treasure up no matter where we live.

Thank you 2217 for being so good to us for so long.

Rico the Parakeet

When I was in high school, I had the brilliant idea that my brother and I should get a bird for our mom for Mother's Day. She had an empty cage and we needed a gift. My best friend's grandpa raised parakeets and had a few that weren't claimed the Saturday before Mother's Day. We are last minute people. We grabbed the cage, hopped in the car, and drove to pick up the perfect gift for our favorite person.

We got there and collected our bird. He was beautiful and seemed happy in his cage. We paid for him and drove away.

Along the twenty minute drive, things took a turn for the worse. Our new little family member began shaking. My brother, Josh, said he might be scared, so we turned the music down and watched him. He started shaking violently before collapsing to the bottom of the cage. Dead.

I can still remember sitting at the intersection waiting for the arrow to turn green, with the feeling of sheer panic, staring at our dead Mother's Day present. We were about five minutes from home as we tried to figure out what we we do. Should we ditch the cage and pretend this didn't just happen, leaving us empty handed on Mother's Day? Should we just tell her so she knows we tried? It's the thought that counts, right?

Our mom is lighthearted and comical so we knew she would get a good laugh out of this. We grabbed the cage, dead bird at the bottom, and marched into the house to explain what had just happened.

She laughed so hard at us. I can remember the look on her face when she saw the cage - delight! I can also remember the look on her face when she saw the bottom of the cage. We told her what happened as we called the breeder to see if anything could be done. She bent over laughing as she prepared to bury our newest family member present gone all wrong.

Of course, the breeder replaced our bird for us. Apparently, birds don't like traveling in the open and it was too much for the poor, little parakeet. When we picked up our new bird, we put him in a brown paper bag and brought him home to ensure he didn't die right in front of us like his brother.

Meet Rico, the replacement bird.

That Mother's Day we certainly did not give the best gift to our mom but we did give her a good laugh. I hope one day when my kids hand me a box with a dead animal in it, I can be as lighthearted and understanding as my mom was with us.

As for this Mother's Day, I am sticking with a gift that can't go wrong - nothing with a beating heart and fear of cars. What are you giving your Mom?