5 years: acceptance & beyond!

Well you can just call me your dormant blogger :)

I have been overwhelmingly productive (aka BUSY) since my last post announcing the formation of our Foundation.  You can find out more details about that here.  Things are going great!  We are so excited to begin taking The Marshall Brown Foundation to the next level, but, that's not what this post is about today.

As many know, our reason for beginning the Foundation is to honor our son.  Five years ago tomorrow marks the day our world changed forever.  My post last year, My Day That Lives In Infamy, says a lot about "that day."  This year I've reflected a lot on seeing beauty develop from the ashes and it got me to wonderin' about what's beyond?  How will we really live the rest of our lives with this on our hearts?

Anyone whom has ever suffered a loss and seen a professional counselor may be familiar with the Kübler-Ross model of the 5 stages of grief - Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.  I felt like I moved through the first three very quickly, hung out at depression for a while, went back to anger, and then lingered in depression some more.  I don't think I really moved into "acceptance" until a good two years after.  Since I arrived at destination "acceptance" I feel like it even has stages of it's own: a little acceptance, more acceptance, able to do the holidays & his birthday without becoming a blubbering mess acceptance, able to make it through one week, one month, etc. without visiting the cemetary acceptance, and so on. 

I know there's got to be something beyond "acceptance" right?  I mean, it just makes sense.  If all I ever do is "accept" this loss, "accept" this burden, "accept" this story then has true healing occured?  Merriam-Webster defines "accept" as to endure without protest or reaction, what? Wait a minute!  How can one be expected to "endure without reaction"?  I mean, this is a child, this is my child, are the 5 stages implying that I should move on and continue life without reaction, like a tombed mummy shrugging my shoulders at the hardships of life, does that count as acceptance? 

I've always found healing in talking about our son and our pain in losing him.  It's not comfortable, I know it makes people uncomfortable, but so do g-strings and everyone loves them.  Revelation 12:11 speaks of OVERCOMING by the power of Jesus and speaking our stories in truth (that's my paraphrase anyway).  Not to be taken out of context, Revelation is speaking of overcoming satan, but by the proof of my own experiences, I believe this passage applies to overcoming our obstacles as well: trust in Christ and talk about it.  I don't have the perfect story, or even the perfect outcome, but takling, releasing, and sharing helps other people know it's ok to be messed up, and THAT my friends is what keeps you moving forward.

As long as I live I will not stop with "acceptance."  I will press on, even when it hurts, even when I sob through the email of another mother grieving the recent loss of her child, even when it's uncomfortable.  We WILL overcome!

One last thing, I still miss him deeply you know; and love him endlessly.  We never stop thinking about Marshall, and healing and moving forward doesn't mean you forget.  It's ok to move forward and at the same time it's ok to be in the middle of Carter's and have a bawling breakdown over a t-shirt.  My baby would be wearing this t-shirt - his daddy picked it out, and it's cool. 

Taking the next step!

Hello Readers!  I have been absent from blogging for a while now, not purposefully, just due to being overwhelmingly busy this Summer.  I hope that you have enjoyed a fun & restful Summer, too!  I have a HUGE announcement today!  No….I am NOT pregnant….but it is something just as equally exciting for Phil and I.  I am going to make you wait a while for the details though – no scrolling down! :O)

In the past few months we sold & closed on our first house.  We moved out of the house 2-1/2 years ago.  A very bittersweet moment – it was our first house, the first place our babies came home after they were born, the first walls we painted in anticipation for all that would take place in our home, and yet, somehow we were very happy to see it go.   It’s time to move on, time to take the next step, time to plant our roots; because we wanna live where the green grass grows, watch our corn pop up in rows, every night be tucked in close…….haha sorry for the serenade there, got carried away!  Over the next few months we’ll be looking for our new place to settle.  It’s very exciting and a little scary because it means making a commitment.  No more transient Browns!

The theme of taking next steps is at the heart of our big announcement.  Almost 5 years ago our world was shaken by the loss of our son.  It has been a growth experience; of course there’s heartache, of course there’s still a sense of a hole in our souls; but it is time to take the next step in our healing. 

For a while now we have daydreamed of the idea of beginning a foundation to help other families that walk through similar situations as we did.  We have always thought it was in the future; we didn’t have enough time, money, emotional strength, but a few months ago we got the “ah-ha” when our church was doing the “At the Movies” series.  The movie was spliced into several snipits to give you an overall sense of the plot.  On this particular Sunday, the movie was “Bella” (you can learn more here http://bellamoviesite.com/).  During the entire service I felt full – I had that huge cry baby lump in my throat and kept telling myself not to blink for fear my Revlon non-waterproof mascara would go streaming down my face and I would come out of church looking like a member of KISS.  It was so good, yet at the same time, so hard.  I walked away that Sunday with this summary – we will all suffer tragedies in our lives, some more severe than others, and one day there must come a point when we decide what to do with the pieces left in our hands.  I thought about this for many weeks beyond the movie series; so much so that it consumed my mind on my commute to work and kept me awake at night.  How much longer would we continue to be “the couple that lost their son”?

The time has come – it’s time for action.  Time to use the story God has written for us and make a happy ending.  In the next coming months you will hear more details about the foundation.  I don’t want to give too much away right now, but know this; we need your prayers for the success of this foundation!  We have formed our board of directions, hosted our first meeting, and even received our first donation!  This is very, very exciting for us and we hope that you will consider being a part of this foundation with us!  Start looking for more information about this foundation on Facebook, email, and potentially your snail mail over the next few weeks.  If you have any questions, feel free to email me at gdbrown2005@yahoo.com

As always, thanks for your love & support.

Hiking, and biking, and gators OH MY

Brazos Bend State Park…I would say it’s one of my all-time favorite places to camp. It’s a great place; very quaint and serene; very well cared for and clean considering it’s a state park.  There are no fancy modern day waterslides, zip lines, cave tours, or even swimming pools, but BBSP brings back lots of memories for me.  My grandparents (whom I cherish and love to the ends of the Earth) would take us camping there often.  We would ride our bikes around the park for hours on end (I had a pink bike with a white banana seat and handlebar streamers, oh yeah) and have campfires at night with s’mores and my Meme’s homemade vanilla ice cream.  Those were the days, and surprisingly not much has changed at the park.  It’s always such a refreshing flashback to the past when life was simple. 

On our most recent family day trip to BBSP we had the joy of marveling at the curiosity of our two and a half year old daughter.  We would lean over the edge of the pond in hopes to catch a glimpse of a turtle, or a blue egret, or better yet (what BBSP is known for) an ALLIGATOR!  We walked the mossy oak lined park trails for hours without a care in the world; skipping, laughing, and just enjoying each other’s company.  We saved the best trail for last – 40 Acre Lake - the main walking trail around the lake known to have the most alligators.  I knew what to expect; alligators in the lake, lying in the marsh or under the pier but about one quarter of the way into our hike we were startled to see a large alligator sun bathing about 3 feet from the trail.  I would have never given it a second thought before but suddenly my motherly instincts kicked in and we devised a plan to dash by the gator.  For the remainder of the trail I was consumed with the idea of protecting my daughter; what had been a blissful carefree day suddenly turned into a finale of a fear-filled mother. 

Not that the fear of a gator eating your child isn’t realistic, I do have a God-given right to protect my child, but for me to let it consume me and steal my joy is a parallel to my life.  I wonder how often we go through the motions of life so fearful and consumed by what may be; what could be; what should be that we forget to enjoy the hike?  I wonder how often we have missed the blessing of a brightly colored butterfly landing on our shoulder or the joy of our child discovering rolly pollies for the first time because all that we can focus on is the unknown lurking gator ready to devour us?

I am famous for being a worry wart; for letting fear consume me.  I learned a hard lesson four and half years ago that changed me forever.  We have to do our part, of course, but there are ten thousand plus “parts” out of our control; parts that are in God’s hands. Though I have not shaken completely potential anxiety or fears that can invade my life, I know without a shadow of a doubt that giving validity to my fears renders me useless.  When I am blinded by the “what if’s” of the future I can’t enjoy the here and now. 

Whatever the “gator” in your life may be – do your part but then leave it to God. 

Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?  Matthew 6:27

The wording on the plaque in the photo above:

In the end, we will conserve only what we love, we will love only what we understand, and we will understand only what we are taught.

My dirt road anthem

I grew up in a small town. The kind of town where gossip spreads like wildfire, where the biggest news in town is the local football team's record, and where everyone is dreaming about getting out. I couldn't wait to get out. Couldn't wait to "experience" the world, and life, and all things that happen beyond the dirt roads. Until I was about 10 years old, our "road" was literally a dirt road. The county paved it one day with blacktop, and if you have never driven over fresh blacktop, let's just say don't do it in your classic white Chevy. Not long after graduating high school I moved to a teeny tiny apartment in the "up & coming" part of Houston. 12 years later...it's still "up & coming"...but it was cheap rent. I lived life away from the small town I knew until 2 years ago when my husband accepted a position with New Hope Church. I was excited to come back close to my family, and never realized how much I missed my sleepy hometown. I had been transplanted into an Urban Jungle - a fierce and fast-paced life that will quickly sweep you under. Coming back "home" was a nice piece of solitude and stillness - something that was missing from me.


I don't consider myself a "country girl", and I never have, but there's something about going back down the mile long dead-end road I was raised on that brings out the vibrancy in me. I love the smell of a stale pond mixed with fresh cut pasture grass. I love the way there are no fences, no neighbors within 200 yards, no rules or homeowner regulations...just freedom. My tiny county road was made up of mostly my family - my grandparents next door, my great aunt on the other side, and two houses down my great-grandparents. Luckily my dad and step-mom very close as well. I am so very grateful to have all of them in my life, and to have grown up being schooled by a generation shaped by the working hands of yesteryear. We didn't watch a lot of TV, we never even had cable because we were in such a rural area. We played croquet in the yard, baseball with my Mema, would swim for hours on end, rolled around in the dirt with our dog - we lived outside and loved it. My great-grandmothers yard is filled with pecan trees and she would stretch a hammock out between them for us - that was Heaven.


The town still doesn't have much, Joe's BBQ is probably the most happening place in town, but every time I go to visit it feels so right. I hope and pray to give a piece of that peace to my children. Living rurally doesn't mean you aren't cultured or intelligent. It doesn't mean you don't know the difference between Paris, Texas and Paris, France. For me it means that you are a little more grounded; it means you know how to shoot water moccasins in your pond from your 2nd floor guest room window while wearing a killer pair of heels :)


I am so thankful for all of the people and places in my life that have shaped me into who I am, and I can't wait for the next time I get to experience the laid-back life in the country.

Wake up call

This Sunday was a pretty typical. We woke up, I made everyone egg sandwiches, Phil left for church, I put on some laundry, and then Analie and I plopped down for some Dora. After we dressed and put all her babies down for a nap (there are 4 specific ones), Analie and I got dressed and headed out the door to church – 10 minutes early to be exact – and with a 2 ½ year old, that’s a fete of nature in itself! We arrived; I took Analie to her class, went upstairs to greet Phil and then I headed to service. I was chatting in the hallway with a friend, when the door opened to the Divorce Care room and a flood of people started coming out. Much to my surprise, out walked a lady with whom I have only recently come to know as an acquaintance. I was shocked to see her, first at church and second coming from Divorce Care. Trust me, I wasn’t judging anyone – I was just surprised to see her, but glad. I knew she had only been married a short while and when we greeted each other I could see the shock, pain, embarrassment in her face.

My relationship with her started out quite odd actually. We were working together planning a wedding shower for a mutual friend. It’s no secret, I like things perfect, and by perfect, I somehow think that’s “my way” – she is also that way, and therefore there were some clashing of the titans.  We don’t have anything in common except our friend; honestly, I didn’t “click” with her or like her too much when we met. To me, she came off aggressive, angry, and entitled. We’ve only ever talked “business” and never much about our personal lives or ourselves until one day a few months back she had to drop some things off at my house for the shower. I was thinking it would be a 5 minute thing – she would ring the bell, drop off the stuff, and then bolt. Fine with me, but it wasn’t like that. She came in and at first we only talked “business”, but then we started talking about shoes. Mmmmmm…..shoes….my Achilles’ heel. We discovered we both had a love of shoes – an appreciation for the art perfectly crafted fine looking footwear. I have never been giddier of talking shoes with someone in my life. She got it – boots, wedges, sling backs, ballet flats, Farragamo, Louboutin!

After the shower, we didn’t talk much. Life goes on, you know, until a few months back I ran into her at church. I said hello, asked how she had been, and she said it was her first Sunday at New Hope. I was excited, but didn’t think much of it, and we both went on. Fast forward to yesterday. I approached her with anticipation as she came out of the room and gave her a hug. I got the impression she’s not the hugging type, and I am, so I apologized for hugging her and she responded “sometime people need hugs,” so I hugged her again sensing she was really down. It sparked a conversation, nothing about her struggles, but just about life. We traded numbers and went our separate ways. As I was sitting in service, I felt horrible. All these months before I had ignored her and avoided her because of my judgment that she was rude, and I started to realize and remember that we never know what a person is going through. I, of all people, should understand that, and I had a sense of failure for forgetting the lessons God has taught me through my suffering.  For all I know, she could have been unhappy about planning a shower, when her own marriage was struggling. For all I know, she could love God just as much as I do, but was feeling disconnected from Him. For all I know, I know nothing!  I am just a girl, who will mess up, and my encounter with this girl was a great reminder to me of the grace I have been given and that God has loved me even in my messes, and therefore I should do the same for others. It’s my prayer that I will hear from her, or that we will build a greater friendship, not because I think I can solve her problems, but because "sometimes people just need hugs."