Bullet Proof

Ever since the first time I heard the song Titanium by Sia, I have always felt very connected to it. A few weeks ago during a family reunion all the kids were doing a talent show/karaoke party. Bailey sang this song when it was her turn.

Just listen to these words.

You shout it out
But I can't hear a word you say
I'm talking loud not saying much
I'm criticized but all your bullets ricochet
You shoot me down, but I get up

[Chorus:]
I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose
Fire away, fire away
Ricochet, you take your aim
Fire away, fire away
You shoot me down but I won't fall
I am titanium
You shoot me down but I won't fall
I am titanium

Cut me down
But it's you who have further to fall
Ghost town, haunted love
Raise your voice, sticks and stones may break my bones
I'm talking loud not saying much

[Chorus:]

I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose
Fire away, fire away
Ricochet, you take your aim
Fire away, fire away
You shoot me down but I won't fall
I am titanium
You shoot me down but I won't fall
I am titanium

So here is the deal. We are all fighting for something. Hoping to make it through stronger. Don't you ever quit. Hard times, good time. Be you and don't let anyone, or any gun, or any fear stop you. 

I am so proud of this girl, who despite all she has been through will get up on a stage or stand in front of a room full of cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents to share her gift to sing from her heart and testify of her strength. I see it in all of them, each one of my kids. Overcoming and not only standing tall, but fighting to never let it bring them down.  

The girls are starting a little fun channel on Youtube for preteens if you have any girls who want to check it out:
Twins Youtube channel

All I Ever Wanted

It came. The day I had dreaded for almost two years—my turn to take the stand. I don’t remember how I got there that day. Besides Rob, I don’t remember who was sitting in the courtroom watching me. All I remember was gasping for air. When they called my name I had to physically peel myself off my bench and force my body to walk up there. Each step literally felt like I was carrying a thousand pound weight—the weight of my reality. Once those words left my mouth . . . the stories I told were real. All those months pretending like it didn’t happen—over.  

As soon as I found my seat—after holding my hand to the square and promising to tell the whole truth and nothing but it—I was asked to turn around and identify who was in the picture being projected behind me.

The first thought that went through my mind was that this was a trap—they had blown up a picture of Emmett’s body lying on the cold ground, and wanted to show the jury how that image affected me.  The fight or flight mechanism began to send off sirens in my mind.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and felt brave as I glanced toward the picture. And there it was—as tall as the ceiling—one of my favorite pictures ever taken of Emmett and me. Almost in a sigh of relief that it was a picture of his smile—and not his blood—my heart started pounding. My mind slammed me back to the very second that picture had been taken. Emmett had passed the bar. I was barely pregnant with Tytus. Life as I knew it was close to perfect. We were getting ready to go on a date with his mom and step dad in celebration of his success as a new attorney.

I remember thinking as I kissed my kids goodbye and drove to the restaurant that night—This is all I ever wanted.

Tears began to fall as I slammed my mind back into reality—the one where I was sitting on the stand—not as Emmett’s wife—as a victim in a murder trial. I could not hold it together. I don’t remember what they asked me as I tried to get a hold of my emotions. I do remember with each question asked I fought more and more to even find my voice.

The lump only grew larger as the questions rolled on. Like a robot I answered every one— but inside I was beginning another series of grieving the life that had been taken from me. I wanted to scream it from every corner of that courtroom. I wanted to yell and share my pain with anyone who could hear my voice. I wanted to tell Rob everything his gun had done to me. I wanted to let my hurt show.  

But all I was asked were facts—where and when, times and places. The only real emotion that was involved was the ones I was being forced to hide. Rob didn’t look up. Nobody asked how it felt—and in my mind I was sure nobody even cared.

When my time on the stand was over I felt like a puppy that had just gotten beaten up. All the stories of our pain were on the verge of seeping through my skin. Somehow I had built up the day in my mind—when I would take that stand—as a day of ultimate healing. I had envisioned telling the courtroom everything I had ever felt, and in my vision they all cried with me—they all felt for me.

Like a deflated balloon I took my seat. Months of rehearsing silently—felt like a wasted life.

By the time I reached my car that afternoon my deflation had turned into fierce anger. The minute my door slammed my heart gaped open and my empty car heard all the emotions that had not had a voice that day.

It started out as a gentle plea I sang to myself. Quietly I began to speak under my breath, “Nobody cares about you Ashlee. They don’t care that you have spent almost two years as a broken shell of yourself. They don’t care that every time you go to cook a meal for your family you can hardly breath thinking of the past. Nobody cares that you have spent countless hours wiping tears in the night and praying on floors that bad guys won’t come in with a gun. Rob didn’t care about you when he put that gun in his pocket. Kandi didn’t think of you as she was held in his arms. Nobody gives a shit that you thought you were living your dreams.”

By this time I was pulling out of the courthouse parking lot and onto the open roads. The angry under my breath voice gave way to shouts of pain. I screamed at the top of my lungs. Some of the screams were at the gun. Some were at the man. A few even sent Kandi’s way, but most of my anger was at the man in the picture who had abandoned me that night. I spoke louder than I ever had before to a man who wasn’t there. “Emmett . . . that was all I ever wanted. That girl in that picture—she adored you. She had set goals in her life, and she had watched them fall before her feet . . . and she deserved them . . . because she fought every day to make the right choices. She spent her entire life protecting herself so she could be worthy of such blessings. She went to college so she could be smart enough to teach her family. She woke up every morning to be the best gosh damn mother and wife—and she had everything she ever wanted. WHY WASN’T THAT ENOUGH FOR YOU? WHY? She spent her life living to make you happy. She would have gone to the ends of the earth to make you smile. Why weren’t you home fighting for HER? Why wasn’t she the one worth dying for? All I ever wanted was to be normal, to have a normal life. I gave you everything. That girl in that picture thought she had it all. She truly believed that anyone cared. But truth is . . . nobody does. Rob didn’t care about me as he planned your fate. Kandi didn’t give a hell who I was as she pranced around in your arms . . . and YOU . . . If I was enough for you, you wouldn’t have left me that night. You wouldn’t have shared something special with HER, but even more than that . . . you wouldn’t have made me believe I had all I ever wanted. All I ever wanted was you, and our family . . . and to be enough for you. The only dream I had was to be all you ever wanted . . . to be the girl worth dying for.”

I haven’t had many grand dreams in my life. I never thought I would run for mayor, or be the first woman president. I never wanted to invent something, or fly to the moon. Honestly, I never set many goals outside of my home, because I had everything I had ever wanted right in my arms. I never hoped to have a huge career or even work at all. My dream was to be an amazing wife. I always hoped to be an incredible mother—I never wanted to miss a second.

It was hard to embrace the blatant belief that was now mine . . . I was not enough. I truly believed that day that I had lost the only goals I had worked my life to achieve. If I wasn’t even enough for the man I had given my life to—I had failed at everything.

I wasn’t enough for Rob. He knew my name, even wrote me a letter. I wasn’t enough for Kandi—she had sent me presents and cards when Tytus was born, she had shook my hand and said my name. I wasn’t even enough for Emmett. He didn’t die proving to the world how amazing his wife was. He didn’t even die fighting for me. He was shot fighting for someone else.

There hadn’t yet been a day in my life—and there hasn’t been any since—when that lie was drilled any harder into my mind. In that drive home from the courthouse I was consumed with what appeared to be my inadequacy of being—every dream I had ever lost, the evidence of my apparent fail. In an all time low I could not see one ounce of the worth of my soul. I could barely see the worth of my existence. I looked upon my past as if the lies that had broken me defined who I would become.

As I pulled off my exit I knew I had to pull it together. The dark fog had grown so thick around me I could barely spark the desire, but I knew I had to snap out of the fears that were driving me home. I uttered a tender prayer. As I spoke, I burst into tears, this time with the real emotions that had driven my anger. I whispered, “Dear Heavenly Father  . . . I feel so alone. I . . . I  . . . wasn’t enough. Nobody cares what I went through. Nobody knows how I feel. I am alone . . . I can’t feel anything through this pain. I am suffocating. I am . . . I can’t, I can’t breath . . . and nobody cares. I wasn’t enough for him . . . I am not enough for them. I wasn’t enough for anyone. All I ever wanted was for him to adore me. I just wanted to . . . I had it, I had all I ever wanted . . . why wasn’t I enough for him? Why wasn’t my plan enough for YOU?”

I continued to drive, but for once in silence. My car pulled into the driveway and I turned off the ignition and shut the door behind me. I sat quietly in the empty garage. I sighed a few times, hoping to catch my breath. My head fell onto my chair. I pushed the seat back until I could no longer see out the window. The garage light shut off and soon I found myself in the darkness.

Hot tears streamed down onto my neck. Everything inside me hurt. The overwhelming feeling of inadequacy steamed out of each tear that trailed down my face. 

I uttered one last plea, “Why wasn’t I enough for You . . . ?”

The most overwhelming feeling of love and peace flooded into my pitch-black car. In my mind a few words echoed inside of me, “Ashlee . . . maybe you were not enough for any of them . . . but you are enough for ME. I have not left you alone, and I will stand by you forever.”

Life is going to be filled with thousands of moments, and most of them we will have to do a lot of standing on our own . . . but we are never alone.

Maybe we aren’t enough for anyone else, and maybe we have lost all we ever wanted—but that doesn’t take away our worth. We were created to be strong—but even when we aren’t—we are enough for Him. My tears have burned many streams down my face, a gun shattered many holes in my family. I did not know how to see myself when so many others had helped me prove the fear of not being enough to seem so true. But that day even when reality reminded me I wasn’t the one worth dying for—I was blessed to remember someone already had.

All we ever want in this life is to be loved for who we are. Maybe nobody will ever tell you any of the reasons you are worth living for; maybe nobody will ever die fighting for you . . . but Jesus Christ did. He is the reason we are enough—because for all the days we find ourselves standing alone . . . we will look back and see He was with us all along. If all we ever wanted was for someone to believe we are worth dying for, truth is  . . . He did.

Fear with Faith

Tonight after I tucked all the kids in bed Bostyn came running out into the hall. She grabbed on to my hand and pulled me back into the twins' room. She was a little bit shaky and said, “Mom . . . today at school we watched a video about electricity and how if the power lines are down and you get too close to them it can kill you. Bailey and I are sort of freaking out about it and we can’t go to sleep.”

I sat down on their bed and tucked them back into their covers. I wasn’t sure what to say but within seconds these words came to my mind. I said, “Girls . . . I don’t think Heavenly Father gives us knowledge so we can fear. I believe that knowledge is given to us to keep us safe. Heavenly Father wants you to know about the dangers of power lines . . . not so you can be in fear all night—and not so you can be paralyzed in fear when an emergency happens and a power line is down—He wants you to have this knowledge so you can have faith—faith in yourself that if that tragedy were to come up in your life . . . you would know just what to do. I believe that Satan wants us to obtain knowledge so we can fear. He wants you to stay awake all night fearing your new knowledge. He wants you to be so worried that you don’t sleep all night long; then tomorrow you are so tired you don’t enjoy any part of your day . . . and Halloween is no fun at all. He wants you to panic for the rest of your life so much that when one day you come to a fallen power line you are so scared you don’t know how to use your knowledge to keep yourself safe.  I know that this knowledge about the dangers of power lines feels new and unknown—but I think that Heavenly Father sent it to you as a tool to store in the back of your mind for safe keeping. Your new knowledge isn’t to be used right now, because the only use for it right now does not come from God, it is fear. God wants us to use our faith to store that message of safety so one day if we need to bring it out . . . it will be our faith—not our fear—that will help us remember how to keep ourselves safe.”

I have no idea where those words came from inside of me—because I don’t believe they did. The power in my testimony to my daughters tonight about power lines spoke a million words to my own heart. There are so many moments in the past few years that I have taken knowledge and turned it into fear. Even in the little every day information given to me by another person—I have developed a skill to put my fear into motion from the tiniest of “facts”.

Since Emmett’s death especially, I have spent days—sometimes months—thinking that knowledge would bring me faith enough to find the peace I was seeking. Knowledge in itself is a worthy cause, but when that knowledge is coupled with fear . . . the aftermath can be devastating—sometimes just as powerful as the event in which you wanted to obtain more knowledge about in the first place.

The trial for me was that knowledge. I craved the facts; I needed them to live. I never stopped searching for them—and any day that I would take a break from my search . . . the facts would find me. It was as if we were on a hunt for each other—the facts and me—each of us just a step behind one another. Sometimes it was as simple as a nurse in the ER, after getting stitches in Tytus’ finger, pulling me to the side of the building to tell me of some facts she overheard on the night of the murder. Other times it was a random phone call from an unknown caller giving me a tip. Information poured in constantly—but when it didn’t, I searched for it.

Every eye staring my way in the grocery store, was a potential bearer of the truth that I craved; every pretty girl a threat to the marriage I no longer had . . . and worse a trigger of fear in the marriage I was trying to build. I was like a sponge that was drying up, but nothing seemed to make things right inside. No amount of evidence called in by detectives brought me one ounce of the peace I still longed for.

I wanted to know why Rob took a gun.  I wanted to know what was said that night. I craved to see the note that was written to me, that sat on Rob’s front seat as he shot a series of bullets into my husband. I longed to hear the emails. I desired with all my heart to know of the details of the life Emmett was living, while I was rocking his screaming infant in my arms. I wanted to know why Kandi and Emmett were there that night . . . but mainly I wanted to know why I wasn’t enough. I secretly hoped that the trial would be scattered with proof of all the evidence of why Emmett was not choosing me. That way I could piece together in my mind all that I did wrong—so I could change whatever parts of me had not been good enough for him. I hoped that the trial would give me all the parts of my life I did not know—and that knowledge would save me from ever living any of it again.

Each time the trial date was changed, it was like another million pound load was placed upon my shoulders. I waited like a baby bird left alone in his nest. My mouth gapping wide open, thinking of little more than what awaited me. Craving the facts to piece together the broken pieces inside of me.

One day I got a call much different than any I had received. Mediation. Rob had agreed to try to mediate the case. Mediate—like a no fault divorce? You take your truck, I will take ours . . . and we will call it fair . . .? I wanted to throw up, but I agreed. My desire to have the trial over out weighed my need for every nasty detail.

The days leading up to mediation were heavy.  I could not wait to put a face to his mug shot. To me, he was a mystical creature—maybe like a big green hulk—that had come and destroyed my world. I wondered if he even had a heart—maybe he would look like the tin man, who could feel nothing inside.

I hallucinated almost hourly what the mediation would hold. In my mind, I pictured us ending the day in the same room—me screaming and yelling at Rob all of the things I had been through because of his decision. I hoped my words would be given the floor—regardless of anyone’s feelings. I longed to stand in front of the whole room and show them that this “victim” had a voice.

The day of the mediation came. I awoke to an excitement I had never felt before. I was nervous, but even more I was ready to have my voice heard. I had asked my step dad to accompany me to the courthouse. By the time we reached the parking lot I was shaking. The excitement to explode my emotions was like a bomb waiting to go off. My nerves had set in full force. I wasn’t ready to face Rob, but I could not wait.

We were shown our room. Emmett’s parents were both waiting inside with our attorneys. Rob was in a room down the hall. We waited for what seemed like four years before the mediator came to our room. He began to speak. He said something along the lines of, “Well, I appreciate all of you being here today . . . we hope to come to some sort of resolve by the end of the day. I will be going back and forth between the two rooms in hope that we can come to some sort of bargain that we can mediate this case out on. Once I meet with Rob and his attorneys, I will come back in here and discuss with the victims what they are willing to settle with . . . and we will just go back and forth until we reach an agreement.”

My heart dropped. Isn’t this the day when I am no longer just a victim? Isn’t this my time to let it all out . . . and piece together all that was broken by this man?

I couldn’t stop it. I said, “Sir . . . I appreciate you being here and trying to work with all of us. This case . . . is probably just another day on the job for you, but . . . it is a hard one for us. I need you to know something—we . . . we aren’t just victims. I know that your job is to just listen to facts of the case and settle on words . . . but what about us? We are not just victims. I have a picture with me of five of the little “victims” of this case. Is there a time today when you get to see that, or hear about them? They each have names and stories of how this murder affected their lives. So though I am so grateful that you are here to listen to the facts . . . I just . . . I need you to know that this case is not just about facts and victims. It is about people with names, and testimonies of truths that came after the gun. So please, today as you speak with Rob about the hours that lead up to that gun fire . . . please don’t forget us and everything that has happened to us after it—please don’t forget that we are more than just victims in a crime movie . . . we are people and this has been our real life.”

All eyes were on me. Though I didn’t get to tell my stories, it felt good to have a voice. Rob didn’t end up settling on anything that day. I didn’t even get to see his face . . . but for once since he had pulled that trigger I felt like my voice was heard. Maybe not in the way I had anticipated it would be—but that day I showed myself that I did not have to live in fear. I was not a victim. I was a person. Though I still waited silently to find the answers I craved at the trial, I was not afraid of the person who was inside of me.

Fear. It is like an epidemic. Once it settles in us—it is nearly impossible to set it free.

I feared more in those eighteen months—that I waited to break free from the victimhood Rob’s gun had imprisoned me in—than I have in the rest of my entire life combined. Fear robbed me of life. Just like Rob had robbed his victims of the life they once knew, and Emmett of the breath he once took—fear stole my soul from my body every single day.

In one way or another we have all been imprisoned by fear. It drives us to say and do things out of anger. It passively waits silently for us to allow its power to overwhelm our minds. Sometimes in the dark of the night about a truth we have learned—or sometimes in the light of the day about a truth we long to hear.

Just like I testified to my little girls tonight about the power of God, I have whispered to my own heart many times as I was trapped in the plaguing power of fear—He is there. He does not want fear to destroy us. We cannot be exempt from the power of fear, but we can turn it over to God. We can testify to our broken souls that it is through Him we can find faith.

So on those dark nights when fear is caving in—PRAY. Ask Christ to send his grace. Pray for reassurance that the knowledge of this world can strengthen your faith. We will not fear when we are blessed with faith—faith in God; faith in this world; faith in our future . . . and even more—faith in ourselves.

Faith that even when the scores cannot be settled in a day of words; faith that we cannot control the power lines in our lives—but that we can stand tall where ever we are. Faith did not carry me through the mediation day until I realized that I had no need to fear. That moment when I told a room full of people that I wanted to be seen as more than a victim—that was the second I finally did. I saw my strength, for the first time the way God had seen me all along. And I was standing.

Ship of Dreams

Every ship that has ever sailed has a captain at the helm. The captain’s first job is to believe in his vessel. He may know of the imperfections it holds, but encourages and finds the beauty in his ship. He knows the job isn’t perfect, but he feels blessed to be given the opportunity to steer such a magnificent unit in the direction it is intended for.  Every captain begins their journey with a plan—a map of the course they want their ship to carry them. They continue with faith that the mapped course will be well, wonderful, and as close to their plan as possible. I can imagine the first time a captain lays eyes on the ship—their heart skips a beat. They are so excited to see in person . . . the vision from their dreams.

I was that captain.

I remember the first time I saw it in person. I had studied the pictures online, but in real life it was even more magnificent. As I stepped out of the car it was almost like I heard angels singing Halleluiahs. Their chorus carried on as I walked up the front walkway.

It was the week of Thanksgiving 2009. We had just pulled into town—me with our four kids piled in our minivan, and Emmett in a U-Haul full of our belongings. The minute we pulled up to our new house, my heart skipped a beat. We had made it. The house of my dreams—and it was going to be ours.

(Thanksgiving Day 2009)

For the first time in our marriage we were going to be out of school and making our own money.  Emmett had been given the opportunity to spend his last semester doing an Externship for the public defender’s office while he began his career in Bankruptcy Law. We had four amazing kids, and we had each other—and now to top off all of our blessings—we were getting our dream house. All of the goals we had planned for our young family were being checked off of our list . . . one after another. 

The closing for our house didn’t come the next day as we thought it would. Luckily my brother Jeff and his family were out of town for the week spending Thanksgiving with Dani’s family. So we bunked up in their house with our U-Haul parked out front.

As the week progressed, we continued getting our closing date moved out. Thanksgiving came and went, and we still did not have the key in our hands. Finally, on Monday, the call came and the papers were ready for us to sign. We were like giddy little schoolgirls as we drove down to the title company. Our first house—it was like a dream.

We walked out of that office like we had won the lottery. We were so proud of our new adventure, and my mind reeled at all of the perfect days that would take place for our little family in that dream house.

Emmett helped me unpack the truck, and then he headed out to catch his plane. He still had finals to take back at Gonzaga, and our delayed closing date left the kids and me alone in our big empty house to begin unpacking.

He was gone for two weeks for his tests—and everything that could have gone wrong did. We got the stomach flu, and our washer and dryer had not arrived yet. Many days I would load up all four kids in the car and heap puked on sheets into the trunk and cart them across town to Emmett’s dad’s house to do wash. He was in Mexico but luckily had sent me his garage code.

The kids were having a heck of a time adjusting to being in a new home. Furniture and appliances were yet to be delivered. It was just a rough couple of weeks all together—but I didn’t even notice. I was still in awe of all the dreams I was watching unfold. I laughed every time we threw up all over ourselves and I began to make a joke about how many gallons of puke I could carry in my car. I was in a fairy tale. One that was full of dirty diapers, and puked on sheets . . . but I was living my dreams. I was the luckiest captain alive.

Many people have told me they didn’t realize how much work being a parent would be until they were thrown into it. I never saw it like that. I knew exactly what each of those commitments entailed, and I still loved every second of them. Now I was doing them in my dream house—with my dream family—life was close to perfect.

I continued to steer my course. I cleaned up scraped knees in that ship's quarters. I changed diapers and got poop (literally) on my face. (For those of you who witnessed that one I am eternally sorry—some things can’t be unseen). In that house I read for hours—chapter books about the adventures of a brother and sister who believe in a magic tree house. I hauled groceries and babies in and out of that front door. I built snowmen in the front yard. I decorated and cleaned and organized. I baked cookies and walked to parks. I taught my babies how to ride their bikes on that street, and to swim in that neighborhood pool. I burned dinners and broke glass cups in the sink . . . but every night I snuggled up close in its safe walls and I smiled. My dream house was proving to be everything I had mapped out for it to become—a haven for my future, and a keeper of my love.

But somewhere a long the way . . . that house became everything it never should have been. The darkness that grew in its walls—in just one night—became more black than the night sky. The fear that penetrated my dreams while I tossed and turned in my ship, threatened the peace that it had once promised me. All of the sudden, a house that once seemed to be my “Captain’s dream ship” began to be a reminder of all the wrong turns that were taken despite my happiness inside of it.

Shawn had stepped in, and taken a spot in that ship that had already been walked all over. He started to feel as if he were a replacement. He felt threatened by a distant glorified memory of the past. He walked around inside the walls of a dream he wasn’t always a part of. We talked many times about starting over somewhere else, but the thought of leaving my ship felt like another abandonment I did not feel prepared to face. So we stayed—many days both of us on autopilot to avoid the feelings of inadequacy we didn’t want to acknowledge, or the abandonment we did not want to face.

(Our First Christmas)

Almost every night, after Emmett had died, I had horrible dreams. They usually rattled me up, but some nights were more debilitating than others. Each dream was very vivid, and usually always ended in the same way—with someone I loved dead.

One night I had another nightmare, but this time it was a mix of both of the worlds I had tried to cram into one ship. In my dream Shawn and Emmett were both there in our house. They were staring at each other, almost as if they wanted to fight one another. They began talking very angrily and then started screaming at the top of their lungs. All of the sudden there was a gunshot—but this time they were shooting each other. Rob wasn’t the one with the gun . . . they were. And by the end of the dream, they were both dead on my living room floor.

My eyes jolted open and I was in a state of shock. Panic shook through every part of my body. My heart felt as if I were having a heart attack. I moved my hand toward the other side of the bed. Someone was laying next to me. Who? Emmett? Did none of that really happen? What was real? Emmett . . . he . . . is dead? . . . That can’t be real. Emmett can’t be gone. But . . . what about Shawn, where is Shawn? I need Shawn. My mind raced through all of the bad dreams—and all of the living nightmares that had played out in that very house.

The panic attack lasted a few hours as I tried to figure out, in the darkness, what parts of my horrors were real—and which parts were just dreams. Many hours passed before any sort of reality could settle in my heart. I never went back to sleep—just stared into the darkness trying to piece together the past.

By the time everyone else in my house woke up, I had a plan. We were getting out of that house! I couldn’t wake up from another nightmare in the same place where all the pain had struck me.

That afternoon we drove around to try to find a new place to live. It didn’t have to be a dream house—just a house. One where the kids didn’t have to change schools, but there were enough bedrooms and a back yard. Just a house—one that didn’t hold any memories from our past. A house—that when I woke up from my nightmares—I was somewhere different then the place where they came true.

We turned onto a road I knew well, and there it was—a sign. I had just been visiting there a few days before. I called my friend and said, “Hey, you have a sign in your front yard . . . you selling your house? Can we come look at it?”

That night we made an offer, and closed a few weeks later. As we packed up our belongings, to move to the new house, I had so much hate in my heart. I whispered to its walls of all the things it didn’t do for me. I screamed from the top of my lungs—when I went back alone to clean—of all the HELL that it had put me through. I blamed my house for all the unknowns I still hoped to hear—like it had been hiding the truths from me.

I wasn’t sad—I was relieved to leave it behind and move on to a new ship. I didn’t need my dream ship to smile, and it had proven it wasn’t going to bring the happiness I felt it had promised me. We thought about keeping it as a rental, but I didn’t want to step foot inside it ever again. So we threw a For Sale sign in the front yard, and walked away.

One day I got a call that an offer had been made and I needed to go into the Title company to sign the house over to the new owner. Again with hate in my heart, I robotically signed all the papers with “good riddance” under my breath, and headed out to the parking lot.

I got in the car to drive home. I was flooded with the memories of the first time I had signed papers on that house.  Tears started to well up in my eyes. My heart began to feel heavy the closer and closer I got to my new home. And then the panic hit. My ship had sunk. I remember saying a pleading prayer to God that day. “What was so wrong with my plan? What was it in my plan that didn’t work? I had it all figured out. Why wasn’t the course I mapped out enough? Why couldn’t the dreams I had written so long ago . . . be the ones that I lived?” No answers came to settle my heart. 

I felt like the captain of the Titanic that day. I can picture him watching as his dream ship went into the water. I bet he played—in his own mind—all the memories he had leading up to the moment when he was made the Captain of it. His pride and dignity sunk before the ship went under. He knew in that moment that he was not in control. He saw first hand that no matter how much love and honor he put into his dream . . . it still sunk.

The captain of Titanic didn’t get to safety to watch his dream ship sink—he went down with it. He gave up his ability to ever sail again, when the thought of losing his dream was too much to take. He saw that sinking ship as a failure of his own doing—and he didn’t allow himself to look to the future for a new dream. He died inside of a sinking ship—his dream ship took his life.

We don’t always get to plan for the icebergs in our lives. We don’t always get to choose to steer our ship around them. Sometimes it is too dark to see them coming, and other times we have too much light in our eyes to see the dangerous waters for what they really are. Sometimes our dreams are going to hit icebergs. We are going to be slammed into the currents and our ships may even sink, but that doesn’t mean we stop being the best damn captain we always wanted to be.

 I didn’t ever think as I turned that key for the very first time, that I was opening up the door to a sinkable ship that would hit an iceberg. I thought for sure that my voyage was going to continue to be blessed with smooth waters.

Signing over the papers to my dream ship was a big day for me. It was a symbolic reminder of the failure that dream had become, but unlike the captain of the Titanic who went down as his dream sank to the bottom of the ocean floor—I am still sailing. I am still pioneering this thing we all call life. I am still hitting icebergs and catching waves. Sometimes those waves have been a small rollercoaster, and other times I have wiped out. There have even been days when I have questioned why I didn’t just sink along with it.

Life isn’t about the ships—it is about sailing them through the storms. The captain of the Titanic didn’t have to go down just because his dream seemed to be over. Maybe your dream house turns out to be the pinnacle of your fall—or maybe your iceberg was just the turn you needed to find a different course.

The loss of our dreams is not the end of our hope. Find hope in the fact that when God closes a door—He will always open a window. It maybe a different view than you had planned—but you still will get to watch as your life unfolds.

Don’t go down with your sinking ships. Businesses are going to fail; marriages are going to end; and we are going to lose the people we love—but we don’t have to lose ourselves. The dreams that end give us an opportunity to find the next one waiting around the corner. There are no endings in this life that are eternal—only beginnings to new dreams.

 (Tytus learning to walk in the driveway)

You are the captain of your destiny; you hold the wheel . . . but God steers the course. Don’t let your fear of your sinking ship stop you from walking away when it falls. Don’t go down without a fight. You are the dream—the ship was just trying to take all the credit. It is you that made that ship one out of a dream.

The Titanic was never designed to hit an iceberg—but we came to earth knowing we would. We were never promised that all we would sail were smooth waters—but we still chose to come down as determined Captains piloting ourselves through the waves.

Stand tall in the storms that are trying to take you down. Your life is more important than the seemingly failed dreams. Dreams were never meant to be written—they are made to be lived. If your ships have sunk, and you are wondering why you should continue to sail—just remember that a new ship is waiting for you. You may not be able to see it from the bottom of the ocean, but something great is waiting for you. It might look different than the life that hit an iceberg—it may be far from the map you tried to plan—but you still have the ability to captain a new course.

Stand tall, you are not alone. We are all captains, and each one of us has—or will someday—lose a dream ship. Don’t let your fear of losing your dreams stop you from living them. There isn’t a perfect course—only imperfect captains hoping they will never give up the fight . . . to keep sailing.

 (Shawn's first time putting up the lights)

(Sisters playing in the front yard) 

(Snuggles with Ty in the front yard watching a water fight)

(First snow of the year in the old house)

Grateful in any circumstance