The Real Transformation Tuesday

I was in my own world driving this morning.  School has started again and so has the associated traffic, so my iTunes have become the soothing beat against a backdrop of brake lights and honking horns.  I was almost to work and the faint sound of a siren lifted me from my music haze.  I couldn’t see the emergency vehicle anywhere, which always makes me nervous there’s a cop pulling me over yet I haven’t realized it, then I will end up on Cops, spread eagle against the side of a cop car, looking all kinds of crazy on TV.  Luckily, that wasn’t the case. 

I kept looking for the vehicle so that I could move out of the way and suddenly the ambulance appeared with bright lights flashing.  The ambulance was merging onto the freeway so I slowed down and let him in front of me.  For a few moments, the sound of the siren and the rhythm of the lights took me back to a very awful memory of following the ambulance that carried my infant son.  I remember that moment all too clearly – the color of the chevron pattern stripes on the back of the ambulance, the lights and the all too painstaking sound of the siren.  If I let myself, that memory can put me in a trance, then the flood of all the emotions return – I’ve learned to not let it get to that point.  I’ve learned to disassociate one isolated trauma from the normal of everyday life. 

I pray that you’ve never experience anything like that, but the reality is everyone has an “ambulance moment” in their lives.  Be it an old flame, a place, a smell – there’s something in your life that, if you let it, can take you to the depths of emotion.  Friend, I want to tell you today that you are the one who has the power to unlock the hurt from your pain; to bring yourself out of the depths.  Just as a prisoner locked in a cell, you are the one with the key.  God slid it under the door to you and told you how to turn the lock.  You can be set free from your pain, but it is a choice – one that only you can make.  When you have moments of frustration, disappointment, anxiety – here’s what you do 1. Pray 2. Give it away 3. Breathe Deep.  Then, when you pray – really make the commitment that you are giving your hurt or anxiety to God.  Don’t be an adulterer with your worry – once you give it away, walk away – commit your worries to God and be done.  Let freedom be a banner in your life over the pits of emotion because emotion will always exist. 

People often ask us how we do it – to move forward after such pain.  Honestly it’s a choice every single day.  You’ve got to wake up expecting to have a good day, number & embrace your blessings, and find solace in the fact that everyone has troubles and yet, there’s still peace to be found.  Don’t expect to stay locked in a cell of depression or fear – pick up the key and unlock the path to freedom to find happiness again!  And when you step through the gate – take the hand of the One that will lead you through a life of refreshment and victory!

Don’t be afraid, for I am with you.
Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you.
I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.

Isaiah 41:10

Me - a poem

I’m okay with being me; with my flaws and my finesse

I do not need a label; I know that I am blessed

It’s not that I like uniformity or discredit the unique

You see I’m just content with whom I am, it doesn’t make me weak

Perhaps we’re all too busy putting name tags on ourselves

That we lose our sense of person to find our place upon the shelves

All packed up nice and neatly; the world will lead you to your spot

To be tucked in with the primo where you soul might surely rot

I think it’s just that simple; that yourself is fine indeed

So let us stop this nonsense and be happy being “me”

 

A poem by Gina Brown; inspired by those who love who they are and those who need to know they were made just right

A "Thin Place" moment

Good morning early Saturday, and by early yes, I do mean 5:11am.  I think there’s something completely wrong with me that I would wake up before the sun on a morning that I have permission to sleep to my heart’s desires.  As soon as I woke up this morning, and before I had actually opened my eyes, this story kept playing over and over in my head.  Hopefully purging all of it out here will help me achieve a successful 7 hour minimum night sleep tomorrow. 

I traveled to Ikea this week to purchase some new items for the office; we’re going through a small remodel and renovation, and we need to “freshen” things up.  In between meetings and interviews, I rushed to the big yellow and blue store in search of finding new matching coffee mugs and “modern” heavy duty flatware for the office.  I think I am the only one at my office who’s bothered by the fact that I have to offer my client a cup of joe in a Mickey Mouse mug, window vendor freebie mug, or slightly chipped 1980 coffee mug that no one wanted at the White Elephant Christmas exchange.  I mean, c’mon, we’re an architecture firm – these things matter, trust me they do.  My instructions were simple, find these items, make sure they look nice and expensive but purchase them cheap.  Sure, no problem….I’m a great shopper, and I’m great at buying “expensive” looking things for low prices.  I found these really great delft blue mugs, with a honed ceramic finish outside and a glossy ivory inside.   Perfect for the office, they looked “architecy” and I refuse to drink out of dark colored coffee mugs, whoever knows if those are really clean?  Bonus: they were $2.99 each.  I also some found some great modern looking flatware that had a nice heavy hand – they looked like expensive Alessi pieces, but for only $39.99 for a set of 4 they were mine! 

I loaded up my car and headed back to the office, seemingly in la-la land for a Thursday afternoon.  I was stopped by the redlight on the feeder road and something caught my attention…a cat…on a leash.  I looked once and then a second time to make sure my eyes had not fooled me.  There stood a homeless man with a cat on a leash, a grocery cart padded with soiled blankets and coats, another cat and a dog inside of the grocery cart, and two more large dogs on leashes soaking up the sun on the pavement.  I didn’t really think too much of it at the time other than how that cat really did not like being on the leash.  The man was not begging for money or food, he didn’t have any signs that requested a job or help – most of the cars around me seemed to be ignoring him, checking their mobile devices or sitting patiently at the red light, and that was fine as he wasn’t requesting any attention.  Yet I noticed him, not by my own will, I originally just started watching wondering what was going on with all of the animals, but then I was blessed to witness, as my Pastor would say, a “thin place.”  Thin places could be thought of as moments in life where Heaven and Earth as close together, moments when God is revealed in the everyday.

I watched the fully tattooed, tattered clothes man pull a bowl out of his cart, set it down and proceed to fill the bowl with bottled water.  (Sidebar: I know what some may be thinking, I thought it too, how can this man provide for these animals, yet he can’t even provide for himself?  I’m not sure the answer to that, but I think too often we are quick to ask those questions.  It doesn’t make us bad people; it makes us informed people, right?  Sometimes I think if we were less inclined to be informed, we’d happen upon some everyday miracles.)  He guided the two large leased dogs over to the water with a loving hand.  He then took the cat and the dog in the cart and gently put them down next to the water bowl.  Then he softly called the leashed cat, which was meowing with thirst, over to the water bowl.  He never looked up; he never seemed to wonder if anyone was watching, except that I was.  After he watered the animals, he went to his cart and fluffed and neatly folded the blankets and coats.  He “organized” the cart from the disarray the animals had caused.  Then he knelt down near the animals and pet them with such a gentleness, with such care and love.  It was obvious he truly loved the animals and they loved him too.  Tears of humility started trickling down my face.  In that moment I witnessed the gentle loving spirit of a human, not a “homeless man”, not some “rich fancy client”….just a human.  I felt sad for our society, for the labels we give ourselves and the boxes we like to fit in.  I felt privileged to witness such compassion and love.  I felt silly for caring about those matching coffee mugs while moments like this happen under my nose daily.  Possibly if I would take in these moments and pause to see some “thin places” my matching coffee mug moments wouldn’t seem like such a big deal.  I often think about how many people are unhappy because they want to look expensive but they feel cheap, yet this man had little and was seemingly very content.  I think about how everyone likes to appear they don’t care about fitting in, yet all we crave is a seal of approval from others….this man never looked up for approval, he never did hat tricks to get my attention for money, he was just human.   This "homeless man” was a great picture of parts of ourselves that we never want revealed; we are vulnerable, we are broke, we are poor, we are worn out, but don’t dare show it.  In this “thin place” moment I felt I was privileged to be reminded that every human needs one simple thing: love.  Perhaps if each one of us could not just happen upon “thin place” moments but expect them and respect them, we’d see glimpses of the world the way God does?

My rut & the sheep

Lately I have been in a funk, a rut, a place that I'm neither over joyous or severely depressed, just stuck somewhere in the middle.  I attribute my funk to numerous things: winter, daylight savings time, winter, cold, no outside time, transition in life, the unknown, houses, oh lordy houses, winter :) I've been trying really hard to identify why I'm feeling the way I am so I can build and bridge and get over it already - with some recent sunshine, I think I've found the prescription to get out of it!

My grandparents (also our neighbors) have 4 sheep we help tend to, we call them the "girls".  We enjoy it, our daughter enjoys it; she's earning her certification in countryfication, while at the same time my husband earns his man card for handling the "livestock".  I just generally watch from the fenceline and let the pros handle things.  Sometimes I'll turn on the water and fill the bucket just to validate my wearing of polka-dot rubber boots.  One evening everyone was gone and it was my duty to pen up the sheep.  I'd seen them do it, but never alone have I handled such brooding livestock.  It was cold this night; I mean like frigidly freaking cold and really really dark!  I had just come home from work in my "designer black" Tuesday attire (more on that another time) but I just pulled on my boots over my trousers.  I thought it would be easy, shouldn't take too long but whew those "girls" gave me a rough time.  Typically we call them, bang the feed bucket against the fence a few times and they come running, but on this particular night, they were not listening!  I called, and called but they would not budge.  It's freezing, I'm cold, it's dark, and they are being stubborn!  Finally I walk out to the pasture where they are, mud slopping all over my "designer black" clothes.  Of course, when I approach they are skittish, but finally I coax them back to the barn with the feed bucket.  Once inside the barn, the momma snuck out...back to the pasture it was for us....chasing for a few minutes until I threatened to make jerky out of her (kidding, vegans, kidding.)  They are all penned up and ready for the night, meanwhile, I in my muddy boots retired for the evening. 

(disclaimer: this is NOT one of the "girls"; just some random online sheep image)

 

Later that week I was telling my grandpa the story and acting out my shenanigans.  He shared with me that sheep don't see well in the dark and that's typically why we close them up at dusk.  I never realized that the sheep not coming into the barn that night wasn't because they wanted to stay in the cold wet pasture and be stubborn, it's because they couldn't see...they were scared.  I've thought about that connection to me; about how my rut could be attributed to my fear.  The analogy of sheep and shepherding is used many times in God's word.  I've always related to it, but never fully understood until we started dealing with the "girls".  I started to make the correlation between myself and the "girls" - how even though God has something really good for me in store at the barn (because His word promises this), I won't move, can't move because I am scared to death.  Scared/worried of the future, the plans I have for myself and our family...scared to walk through darkness to get to the reward.  I guess at times we're all like the "girls"; feeling like it's safer in the darkness because we can't see the barn; feeling like there may not be any food if we do get to the barn and I imagine God like me in that situation - frustrated and annoyed that we won't be led by His voice to receive the reward!

So, I'm getting out of the funk.  Gonna walk through the pasture (and trust me there's more to step in than darkness in the pasture) and get to the barn.  Going to trust the voice of God leading me to the reward.  Won't you join me?

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."

My Day That Lives in Infamy

December 5, 2007…my day that lives in infamy.  I will never, as long as I live, forget the day that shook my world and changed our lives forever.  Four years ago today, we woke up in bed next to our precious son…he stretched his little arms out and gave us a smile…almost to say “good morning, I love you Mommy & Daddy.”  Little did we know only a few hours later, we’d be attempting to revive life into our tiny boy. 

Everything, literally E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G, changed that day.  My son died.  With my son part of me died too.  A part of me that can never come back, a hole in my soul which will only be filled on the day we are reunited at Jesus’ side.

God has given me freedom over life-debilitating sorrow, He has bound my wounds so that my soul is not bleeding out.  He has given me the ability to love and live again…without fear.  Even though I have healing, it doesn’t mean that I still don’t feel the scars and remember why they are there.  I believe that when we suffer tragedies in our lives, we need to feel it.  We need to accept that it’s real, we need to have permission to grieve, and grieve freely, and then one day, there comes a crossroads at which we must decide how to move forward with the life we’ve been given.   These events in our lives can influence how we are, but they should never define who we are.  

I love you Marshall William Brown.  I miss you every minute of the day.

It is well with my soul.

It ain't about the turkey

After reading all of the “thankful” posts each day on Facebook, I decided I would refrain from being held to updating my status daily with my “thankful’s” and rather compile a BIG list here.  It’s so hard to assemble any words that could touch a description from my heart and soul.  Of course, there are lots of things I am thankful for – the obvious and some random oddities as well, but I have chosen the ones at the forefront of my mind this Thanksgiving.  Whatever you celebrate at Thanksgiving…turkey, football, family, Black Friday…may you take a moment to reflect within yourself and give a true moment of thanks. 

My Top 10 “Thankfuls”

·         Father, Son, & Holy Spirit – for filling my void, forgiveness, and much more

·         Philip – for his love, humor, and wit.  For his encouragement and support.  For the way he is an amazing daddy to our children.  For his intelligence and creativity.  It’s amazing how two people collide at the hand of God….and he’s pretty cute too. J

·         My Children – without a shadow of a doubt.  Indescribable love. (insert bawling mom)

·         My parents – I am so fortunate to have strong shoulders to stand on.  For all they have done, still do, and will always be.

·         My family – a LONG list, but truly, I don’t know what I’d do without any of them. 

·         My country – how amazing is it to wake up each day and be a proud American?  The trust and dignity in having FREEDOM!  Grateful for all who serve for that freedom!

·         My job – at times stressful and grueling, but all in all I love it!  I could not ask for better bosses.  It’s the most rewarding thing to wake up each day and get to do what you love.  The 9 year old dreamer in me knew I could do it!

·         My church – tickled pink with where God has us right now.  I love just being a part of New Hope, even if my husband didn’t work there, I would still love it!

·         My iPhone – of which I may never keep in touch with the world, emails, texts, phone calls, and sleepless Pinterest nights J (if you have no idea what Pinterest is, google it…warning…it’s addicting!)

·         Health – for me and my family

The Aftermath Series - part deux

So, been thinking a lot about what content to put out for this part of the series.  I think we have learned some invaluable lessons through this part (well, through all of it really) but in particular I think this one will shape us forever.  It's money.  The green stuff.  Cold hard cash.  Dinero.

Part 2 - The GREAT Depression

You will probably read about this too in your handy depression handout the doctor/counselor gives you, but again, you have no clue the magnitude of what's happening until you are standing waist deep in a pit of debt.  I can recall sitting in the Ronald McDonald House parent room logging onto the computer to pay my bills from the hospital - that was the beginning.  I sat down in the chair and realized I hadn't paid any bills in two weeks because I had been so overwhelmed by what was happening with my son.  There began the late fees of many to come.  Once Marshall came home and subsequently went Home, the medical bills and the like began to roll in.  I once read a statement that my insurance company paid over $150K in hospital bills.  WOW.  To back up some, Phil had began his business about a year prior to Marshall coming into the world - it was going well - and then... We both stayed away from work for about 2 months, and while we had some money trickling in from our jobs, it was really generous donations from loved ones and strangers that kept us afloat.  Once I went back to work, I would sit at my desk and cry silent tears as I gazed out of the window.  No one knew.  I was very inverted.  All the while, my husband was home, trying to run his business, but little did I realize he too was in a great fog.  Add a toxic mix of depression and countless hours alone in a house where you were supposed to be caring for your son, and you get a dangerous mix of apathetic withdrawal.  The business started to tank, bills continued to be paid late, and medical bills were rolling in.  We began living off of a credit card to keep us going.  We traded in my one year old beloved new SUV for a less expensive car, although we had to roll it all over.  It wasn't ever my wish to trade in the car - we had to.  I lost my son in that car - too many bad things happened.  I couldn't drive a 45 minute commute everyday knowing what had happened there and looking in the rear view mirror for a mirage of the non-existent car seat.  So it was gone.

For about a 3 year period after our loss, we busted our tails to make up for the financial mess we had made.  Shocker for me - I did not buy one single new outfit or shoes for 6 months straight!  People - that's revolutionary!  You know what's amazing about being in a storm...eventually the eye of the storm emerges and for a moment you feel the calmness and realize it's temporary.  The eye of our storm came one day when a perfect stranger left an envelope of $800 in cash on our doorstep with a note that said "We are so sorry for your loss, please use this however you like.  And don't even think of paying us back."  It was the exact amount we needed to purchase our son's headstone.  It was a God-send, a miracle.  Thank you God for sending angels dressed as people to help us!!!  By the way, those strangers were revealed to us and are now amazing friends.

I tell you all of this not to get your sympathy or donations (please, don't send me money!) - I tell you this because it's something that was a side effect of our grief that we had no idea about.  It's the truth about what really happens when you are in a whirlwind apathetic downward spiral.  We could not see the forest for the trees, and unfortunately still today clean up the financial baggage we dragged with us through our healing process.  So now we know where every measly cent of our money goes.  It's tracked like an FBI fugitive.  Our communication about money is crystal clear and we have a plan of attack.  We have a budget spreadsheet that even Wall Street would be jealous of.  Is it all gone, no.  Are we perfect financial planners, no.  The difference now is awareness and willingness to make it work.  We work too hard for our money to see it blow away in the wind to another creditor.  God has blessed us immensely with rewards for our discipline, and it's our prayer to pass these lessons to our children so they will not have to have that stress on them....ever. 

The Aftermath Series

Ever since I started blogging I have contemplated how much and how far I should share the gruesome details of my travels with depression in the aftermath of losing my son.  I have come to the conclusion that divulging these things pent up inside are very therapeutic for me.  Still, nearly 4 years later, I have decided to post a candid image of what parts of my journey looked like.  I hope that it will help others, either those traveling through it or helping someone else through it, and I hope that ultimately it glorifies God for the strength He gives me daily.

This series may be hard for me - a lot of backspacing and probably some tears, but ultimately I know that I am strong enough to write it and I know that this type of exertion always helps heal me.  It will be very exposing for me, however, I know there are some key notes that we (me, my husband, and family) missed.  By no means is this a wish-I-couldv'e or finger pointing expose, I truly believe that every circumstance we walk through is planned and purposed.  I am very thankful and blessed for the team of people who love and support me (my husband, family, and true friends).  So, maybe today, it's planned and purposed for you to be reading this - for some reason you were brought here and may you take away only what God has intended for you.

"I can be changed by what happens to me.  But I REFUSE to be reduced by it." - Maya Angelou

Part 1 - Poundage

Why couldn't I have been the other 90% of the depressed population that loses weight when they are depressed?  I would have taken the twiggy shaped frame any day over the almost 30+ pounds I gained over 1 year after my loss.  I was the other 10% that liked to soothe my hurt with yummy gooey over-sized portions of food.  Losing your child 1 month after giving birth doesn't help the situation.  So here I was, already coming into the game with extra "baby" weight, a huge scar from a gnarly c-section, and then wham!  Here comes my back-stabbing best friend D-E-P-R-E-S-S-I-O-N.  Hate is a strong word, but truly, I HATE depression.  You don't even realize what is going on.  It's like you are living with a veil on of what your world is, but in reality you can't even see two steps in front of you.  I had no clue that I was gaining so much weight.  I am not a small girl by any means, but I do have a definition of healthy, and it all flew out of the window with two words "he's gone".  I think part of connecting with people and trying to be normal was eating socially with people.  Family and friends would invite us over for dinner to get us out of the house in hopes to make us feel better, and they would all cook wonderful, tasty meals, never realizing that was our drug of choice.  We would go to lavish, expensive (more on this in Part 2), gorging dinners and not think a thing of it.  Then we'd go home, sit on our couch, watch TV and eat some more.  We were both drowning in gluttony masquerading as happiness.  Below is an embarrassing photo of me approximately 1 year after our loss - this is awful.

I guess you and your loved ones will read about this side effect on any depression pamphlet, but no one ever said a word.  Probably their love for us and fear of hurting us kept them tight lipped, and more so, we probably wouldn't have listened. 
I knew that I was starting to heal once I looked in the mirror and saw the poundage for what it really was - medicine for the depressed.  Not long after this photo was taken, I found out I was pregnant, and that made me do a 180.  Not ONE SINGLE donut or caffeine did I intake for 9 months.  I was very strict and very concerned with giving my body only the best for my baby.  After Analie was born, I wanted to be a healthy example for her...not the nasty depressed example in the photo.  I could already see a difference by the time she was about 3 months old. 

The entire time I nursed her, no caffeine, no fried foods, limited sugars, etc.  Luckily, most of these habits have stuck with me and I finally - almost 4 years later - have been able to drop the depression pounds I gained, and extra, and I intend to keep going.  I don't have a goal weight in mind, just a good balanced life.  A healthy Gina = a healthy mom = a healthy wife = a healthy life. 

Bahama Mamas love Texas

After returning from a week long sabbatical in the beautiful Bahamas, I have come to the conclusion I MUST be part Bahamian. I was thinking really hard about this – sitting on the beach, check; eating yummy food, check; dancing randomly to steel drums, check; burning to a crisp, check; running up and down the shoreline in slow motion wearing a g-string bikini…umm, not quite. Phil and I had the best time escaping reality and celebrating our 10 years of marriage. I was really bummed when I returned home because no one was picking up the towels I kept leaving on the floor, and when I came to bed at night, there was no elephant folded from freshly washed white towels or chocolates on my pillow. As much as I loved the Bahamas, I must say, I am dang proud to be a Texan. You meet so many interesting people when traveling, and so many international people. It was very refreshing, yet, made me love my yellow rose state even more…and here are the top 5 reasons why.

1. Salsa – the oh-so-good staple of the Lone Star State is not as widely available abroad. One morning I ordered an omelet and asked for a side of salsa. The waiter curiously looked at me with crooked eyebrows…salsa??? “You mean, Tabasco?” he asked. So here I went into a novel long epilogue describing salsa to this man. “Chopped tomatoes, cilantro, peppers, onions, and it’s all blended up together? You know, you eat it with chips?” I said this with an anxious response, fearing he was not going to have any. He looked at me again like a curious puppy, and then dashed away to the kitchen – I have a clear picture in my mind of what that conversation looked like with the chef, lol – and surely, my sweet Philippino waiter came to the rescue. He brought the bowl of deliciousness to my table and asked “is this what you call salsa?” YES! I proclaimed, and so my anxiety was relieved and this man was schooled on salsa.

2. Country Music – walking through the airport in Texas, sounds of homestyle fiddle playing fill the air. You don’t really notice it until it’s gone. About 3 days into our vacation, I realized I hadn’t heard any country music since leaving home. Don’t get me wrong, I love steel drums and island music, but I did miss my twangy ballads.

3. Manners – you know you’re not in Texas anymore Toto when men stop opening doors and people stop saying thank you. And can someone please teach a class in elevator etiquette? Phil and I must have seemed like softened fair flowers among hardened thistles.

4. Family – I’m not talking about “blood” family, rather the Tejas family. You can spot a person from Texas miles away, even in a faraway land, and instantly you are connected. You may not have anything in common, may speak two different languages, but as soon as you know each other is from Texas…you’re family. There was another couple on our cruise that was also from Texas. Oddly enough, our two families were the only ones in a room of about 200 people to get pointed out in the comedy show. Large, loud, and Texas proud!

5. Boots – Is it stereotypical to say that everyone in Texas wears boots? Yeah, probably, but it has so much truth to it. No one can appreciate a pair of hand-stitched ostrich leather boots with hand tooling like a Texan. Just the smell of broken in leather makes me feel at home. When you’re in Texas, people wear boots year ‘round. With shorts, pants, skirts, and sweaters, boots are just as common here as the quintessential flip-flop. From gangstas to rockers, every Texan needs a good trusty pair of Tony Llamas or Old Gringos.

T-E-N plus forever!

Super excited my baby sister will be getting married soon! As soon as she was engaged, she asked me to be her Matron of Honor or "MOH" as I like to call it. I accepted, of course, and today began the first of my very important duties - dress shopping! I walked into the boutique and found myself in awe - I don't remember dress shopping or wedding planning being this intense 10 years ago. Yes, that's right, I said 10 - more on this topic later.

I must sound like an old timey lady "back in my day" kinda of thing, but really, I was shocked at how much dresses cost now - and venues, and releasing live butterflies out of boxes. Poor little things, couped up in that box all day, gasping for air, until the preacher-man pronounces husband and wife - I am calling PETA! Never mind the butterflies for now. So, as I was saying about the dresses - we go into the shop, our personal bridal consultant greets us and whisks my sister away into a private dressing room with her own stage area - super fancy! I was already vowing to be the best MOH on earth - I brought snacks, water, and tons of toys to entertain my little princess. After about the 3rd dress - she came out - we all knew it was THE one. She looks amazing.

All this wedding talk has got me reminiscing about my wedding - ahhhh August 11, 2001 - to my dream man. Our wedding was pretty and nice, and it wasn't a $35K wedding, but that doesn't matter. Actually, if we did it again, it would be smaller and very personal. We are about to celebrate our 10 year wedding anniversary - we are so excited. To some, it may not seem like long, but with a divorce rate in America of +/- 50% - we are feeling pretty dang blessed. I know there were some nay-sayers: we're too young, we're too poor, we're too not what their perfect idea of marriage was - but, BOOYAH, here we are, 10 years later, and more in love than ever. We have learned some hard lessons, both of us are pretty hard-headed, and we have dragged each other through the pits of depression, but through it all - at the end of the day - I can truly not imagine my life without Phil. I look forward to being an old gray-haired wrinkled (unless I get Botox...ummm, I think not for now) woman alongside him...rocking on our porch, sipping iced tea. I love you Phil!

Galveston, oh, Galveston (sing it like Glen Campbell)

My family and I made a trek down to Galveston last weekend to enjoy a beautiful day sea side. We had a great time - we built sand castles, jumped in the waves, and munched on snacks coupled with the grit of sand in our teeth. I hadn't really been to the city since before hurricane Ike. Things have really changed there. The pace is slower - and not in a good way - almost morbid, the energy in the air that used to thrive in Galveston, seems no more - where has it's spirit gone?

After we packed up our snacks and sand shovels we drove around the city for a while - Phil and I gasped and then paused in silence, as if almost to pay our respects to the city that has fallen forgotten. I recall going to Galveston as a child as a vacation spot - hip and happening, lots of business. I remember crowning over the causeway and cruising down Broadway and just being in awe of the gingerbread Victorians and quaint bungalows. Actually, I think that was my first glimpse of real architecture - what 8 year old do you know that recalls every detail of touring Bishop's Palace? But now, it seems so empty.

As a designer, I look at architecture like that and weep inside. How could such treasures of hand-made history be left to rot and decay among the salty air of the city? How could such amazing spaces and memories be...alone? It's just not right.

I imagine gilded ladies all in their fine imported silks and gentlemen with their handlebar mustaches waltzing hand-in-hand shop-by-shop up and down the strand, and yet today, the only reminder of that kind of joy is the rusty historical marker placed on the facade of a shoebox building. (sigh)

It makes me so sad Texas! Where's the love? Let's stop investing in these spec-home stick framed glorified shacks and put our money back into preserving the backbone on which our roots were built. Our family even has records of my great-grandparents coming into port to America through Galveston - so cool! Let's show the love for the man who climbed up on scaffolding 10 stories in the air without a harness to lay a piece of hand-cut stone, just so he could go home and put a decent meal on the table for his family and in return provide a little bit of innocence back to us.

So I am prayin' hard - Brown Design Studio Galveston? New Hope Church Galveston Campus? or just some wishful thinking?! I would love to be an instrument of helping to breathe life into a city so deserving. Please send your donations to Gina Brown Restores Galveston Fund... lol... no, no, there's no fund....YET!

The NEW Normal

This is a serious one - I have warned you! :)

Heard a new phrase today that I thought was spoken with such wise and true words. A great family Phil and I have shared our lives with lost their 16 year old son and brother a little over one month ago. It truly was a devastating phone call for Phil to receive and we both wept deeply about it.

Understanding all too well some of the feelings the family must be having lately, I think the one thing I try hard to avoid is offering "advice". Somehow that's what people think you need, but really, you just need a listening ear who will hear your cries, comfort your anger in silence, and catch you when your knees are weak beneath you.

Today, the brother posted his struggles. Although many heart-felt comments poured in, one comment in particular just gave me chills. It was from the boys' mom and reads below:

"It's the grief process, it's not because we are not doing something right, it's going to hurt, it's going to make us sad, mad, and then you figure out your new normal. Are we there yet? NO! But we will get there. I love you."

I was so touched by these words of comfort from a mother to her son. I can only imagine the pain she too must also be suffering, but yet offered these words as a picture of strength and grace. One phrase jumped out at me...a phrase that's I have been trying to find the words for sometime now..."New Normal". I never thought about it that way, but it's so true! I recall many people telling me often that "one day things would get back to normal" that it would "get easier"...but I really don't think either of those statements are true. You never get your old normal back, and it never gets easier...you just learn how to better live with your NEW NORMAL.

My NEW NORMAL has taken some time to settle into, but like this mother above encourages her son, "we will get there".

Thank you to this family and I love you all deeply!

She's a little bit country & a little bit rock n roll

The first time Phil told me God was pressing on him to be a pastor I honestly thought he was playing a mean joke on me. I couldn't believe my wild and crazy husband would even want to don a pair of pressed khaki pants, much less be still for long enough to write a sermon - welp...I was right...8 years later, I don't think he has once worn khaki pants :) but oh, I was wrong...oh so wrong, about him being a pastor. My husband is a great shepherd to his sheep - a bunch of unruly adolescents walking through the world in worn out Toms - he is the perfect combination of fun and faith, serious and silly, he is exactly what God had in mind.

So imagine my surprise, when me, Gina "downtown" Brown (lol, no one has ever called me that, just like the sound of it) was selected to sit in the role of the oh-so-desolate "Pastor's Wife"! For many years before we had children, I was Phil's partner in ministry - his right hand, um..woman. Lock-ins, pizza, and games that involve duct tape soon became our Friday night entertainment. It was so fun, so awesome, and so enriching.

About 18 months ago, God truly blessed Phil with a position at New Hope Church. Honestly - it has been amazing! Our church is Texas-sized and even better, our church shares Jesus in a Texas-sized way. To know God and make Him known!

I was so excited last year when I received an email inviting me to the "Armed & Dangerous" Pastor's Wives Retreat ( http://leadingandlovingit.com/ ) in Nashville, Tennessee. I had no idea what to expect. I wondered if I would be the only one inked up (ok, ok...I have one tiny tattoo). I wondered if I would be the only one not sporting a lavender t-shirt with kittens on it and something about "All God's Creatures...". Not that there's anything wrong with lavender kitten shirts, it's just not me...Downtown Gina Brown. :)

Man, I was so relieved when we stepped into the most awesome hotel in Nashville (Union Station http://www.unionstationhotelnashville.com/ ) and I met some REAL pastor's wives face to face. Not only were they wearing cute clothes (not that it's important, but I like me some cute clothes) but they felt real to me. Not plastic at all, but very transparent and relative. Gotta give some props to the ladies who made this retreat happen - every detail was thought of!

The best part of it all was getting to connect with the other 7 pastor's wives of New Hope...those women are all amazing...and NONE of us are the stereotypical pastor's wives. We laughed, and cried, and laughed some more. Everyone one of them has something that makes them a blessing - stillness, grace, humor - I am so thankful to be grouped with this brood of wonderful women and can't wait to continue to grow with them.

The end. Amen, and aaaamen!

All aboard - The Houston Zoo

What a fun family day - our first trip to the Houston Zoo! Analie stayed in the stroller for all of about 15 minutes and Miss Priss insisted..."I walk". We all had a blast, but made it only 1/4 of the way through the zoo.

She really enjoyed the lions. I just happened to capture her making a lion roar...my fave pose of the day!

Then, I was coerced into the fish tunnel by a sweet little innocent princess...dun, dun, duhhhh - Ani had a blast, but I wanted to get out of there! In this picture it looks like I am having fun, but it's just an illusion - for Ani's sake. A 10 foot long, 3 foot diameter tube - with hot sweaty kids inside - no fresh air, and dangerous poisonous vicious fish just waiting to bust the glass and eat me or Analie at any minute...ok, well maybe not poisonous :) I felt like I was suffocating. She was holding up the whole line because she wouldn't move forward and we had just a little tantrum trying to get her out. LOL :)

Now for the meat here....I know, I know, I always have to tie all this together, but for real, from the most inner parts of me, these words and thoughts flow. I do not front or fake what you read in these pages - it's a 100% account from my heart AND soul, and anything less wouldn't be a true reflection of me.

So here it goes - most may think of going to the zoo for the first time just a perfect picture opportunity. Another check-off-the-list of things to do with your kid, another time of fun, but now on to the next. Not for me. I relish in moments like this and think of the time when I would dream about moments like this. After we indulged in our fat-free, wheat-bunned polish sausage hot dogs we sat down on a shady bench to enjoy our sugar-free, low-calorie dippin' dots (ok, so the previous wishful thinking about the food is a fabrication :) . As we were dripping in melted ice cream courtesy of Analie spoon feeding us, Phil said "this is a family moment I used to only just dream about." Wow, how he said exactly what I was thinking.

See, the irony of the matter is that as we were praying over our baby boy's hospital bed three-and-one-half years ago, we envied the zoo-goers from 8+ floors above, out the window of the tiny sterile dimly lit room. The monitors created almost a trans-like state as I gazed out the window and wondered what it would be like to venture out someday...as the family we'd always dreamed of having. From his hospital room turned alter, we talked about & fantasized about so much... the day Marshall would get better and we'd take him out to ride the train and see the animals was one of our topics. So the thought of even driving down the street where the zoo or hospital was in my sight was terrifying to me after we lost him. I could let alone see a street sign for "Texas Medical Center" much less think of crossing paths with a memory so painful. Praise God for healing because in December, on Christmas eve, I was able to make the trek back to Children's Memorial Hospital...and not only a drive-by, but we parked the car, unloaded all of our gracious donations from friends and family and made our ant-trail path back up to the 8th floor. And with heads held high, Phil and I felt a sense of relief that we were able to cross that barrier.

And all of that ties back into our visit with Ani as we wrapped up our first visit to the zoo with the customary choo-choo train ride around Hermann Park. It was a great ride, the breeze felt nice drying out my sweaty khaki shorts, and many children were having birthday parties in the park, Analie enjoyed waving to them all. Just as we rounded the corner to turn back to the train station, I caught an eyefull of the cream-stucco clad, clay tile roof hospital...I knew exactly where our room had been. And although silent tears streamed from behind my darkened faux-Dior shades, they were the most bittersweet tears I've ever tasted.

I love my children so very much. Please enjoy & love yours too. What precious gifts from God that breathe amongst us...

Easter 2011

There's so much to say about Easter - in it's most unfiltered pure form it's the day of our risen Lord, Jesus, the day on which his victory transformed God's relationship with man...forever. Easter has become such a celebration of pastel-colored eggs and fabricated fluffy bunnies, and for what? Sure it's fun dying and hunting eggs, and we had a great time, but what is that really all about? I am not sure when our culture chose to transform the most important day of Christianity into another sales gimmick, but I do know this, as we continue to grow as a family, we definitely want to make Christ the forefront of our Easter celebrations. It doesn't mean we will be kneeling at an alter for 24 hours on Easter or wearing pretty pink suits with matching hats - it means that we will FIRST honor our Lord, and then enjoy what He has given us with the people we love most. It should be a day to celebrate the freedom Christ has given us through his death, burial and resurrection - Lord, let the Brown's make you proud!

So, here are a few of our enjoyments today - it truely was a blessed time, and a time of great joy! Thanks Jesus!