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.