Nicole K. Twedt

Being Brave When Life Is Hard

The Dawn of About to Get Better

by //

There’s a shifting, a shaking, a changing in our family, a change for the better.  And it’s coming soon, I know it.  The Twedtlings and I (and Greg of course), well it’s like we’re living in the dawn of about to get better.  I can almost taste it, we’re that close!  From what I can tell, this change will be an awful lot of work, but it will be worth it.  For it’s already bringing hope to our family, along with peace, love and great joy.

The dawn of about to get better.  That’s a line I wrote at the end of our 2016 Christmas letter.  I don’t know why I added it.  I don’t even like the sound of the dawn of about to get better, it’s so cheesy.  What does it even mean?

Yet I couldn’t bring myself to write a different ending, even when the letter went through edits for the blog.  I didn’t know it at the time, I couldn’t have, but this little phrase was going to be down-right prophetic for our family, particularly one of us.  How could I possibly know that something so big and so terrible was about to get better?  Especially since it was going to get a lot worse in the first few months of the new year.  Nonetheless, something was about to change.

I’m itching to write more.  The whys and hows of this dawn of about to get better, all that’s shifting and changing, and taking new form.

You see, my family and I are setting off on the marathon of our lives.  No, that can’t be right.  What’s about to happen is more like a much-needed pause during the middle of a race.  Not that races have half-times.  I’m not the best when it comes to sport analogies.

I participated in quite a few 5Ks back in college, my glory days.  Or they would have been my glory days if I wasn’t so messed up.   Anyway, I admit  most of the races were all about the free long-sleeve T-shirts, the ones with the name or cause of the race on the front and all the sponsor logos on the back.  I’d proudly wear my race T-shirts on walks or runs around Green Lake.   They made me look the part of the runner that I surely wasn’t.

Back to the 5K.  Most of all, I remember the cheerful volunteers on the side of the road, around the halfway point, holding Dixie cups of cold water or Gatorade for me to grab as I dashed limped by.   Now that I’ve had three babies, drinking anything while running (even before running) is never a good idea, no matter how refreshing it sounds.  Who am I kidding? I don’t run anymore.

Anyway, the Dixie cup of cold water represents the season we’re in, a season of refreshing.  Not to be confused with a season of rest.  There will be no resting in this season.  We’ll be running harder than we’ve ever run before.  But our bodies and souls will be nourished along the way, which makes all the difference.  For nourishment to the soul is what it will take for us to run together and not hold back.

Perhaps a better picture would be of the five of us entering a new race altogether, one we’re equipped to run because we’re learning to pace ourselves.  The race course is new to us, but we’ll figure it out with a little help.  We’re sure to grow tired, we’ll stumble or fall.  But help will come when we need it.

I’m mixing metaphors.  I’m getting tired.

I will write more about this soon, very soon, and with fear and trembling.

For it’s a different kind of story altogether.  It’s not about healing or grieving, or any of what I usually write about.  It’s more of a perspective shift.  And this little shift in perspective has been one of the greatest Ah-ha moments of my life.

O Lord, help me trust you.  Help me trust you as I dwell with my family in the dawn of about to get better.  A new day is dawning, surely it is.  I’m holding onto this promise.   I think of Psalm 92:4 when I think of you and I praise you for it.  For you said about yourself, “He will cover you with feathers.  In his wings you will find refuge.”  How mighty and how beautiful it is to be covered by the feathers of your wings.  Up close, I can see the intricate detail, patterning and glossiness of your feathers, of your glory, your strength.  I don’t even like birds but I have a thing for them because of you.  Help me be brave enough to see your beauty in every point of this new race, even the ugly parts when I’m limping along, out of breath and ready to quit.  But I will keep running because I’m not alone, never alone.  You are here, with every step along the way.

 P.S. You can read about the big ah-ha moment here.  Then everything went out the window with an even greater ah-ha moment.  You can read that essay here.

Christmas 2011

by //

Originally from December 2011

Merry Christmas everyone!  I can’t believe how fast this year has flown by.  Like many of you,  2011 was filled to the brim with mountain top highs but also heartbreaking lows.

As for the highs, boy were they high!  We welcomed the fifth member of our family this summer.  Lauren Anna Elise was born in the early morning hours of July 13.  Daddy and Auntie Julea almost missed her appearance because she came faster than anticipated.  You would think I would know what labor feels like by now…

Lauren is our little love.  Her personality has emerged as sweet and very social, much like Grandpa Steve.  Out of all of our children, she is the one who reminds me of him the most.  Our time with Lauren is a treasure, a rare glimpse into heaven.   In honor of my dad, we chose the name Lauren which literally means “crowned with laurel.”  His meant “crowned.”  A few months back I came across a verse in Isaiah that reminds me of their names. “Those who have been ransomed by the LORD will return.  They will enter Jerusalem singing, crowned with everlasting joy.  Sorrow and mourning will disappear, and they will be filled with joy and gladness” (Isaiah 35:10).  Talk about hope! How my heart leaps inside me each time I ponder those precious words.  We are blessed to have Lauren.  We pray that she will have the love of the Lord in her heart at a young age and that her gentleness and sweet disposition will be a light in this very dark world.

As for Uno and Dos, as we refer to Emily and Steven when we don’t want them to know we’re talking about them, Emily is on the brink of turning 5, while Steven is quickly approaching 3.  Emily is in her second year of preschool at Westgate and Teacher Pasi is her beloved teacher.  Greg and I met back in the day when I taught with Pasi. I’m sure most of you know the story of how I met and married my student Bradley’s uncle through a certain “matchmaker” named Julea.  Anyway, having Emily in my dear friend’s class is a blessing and brings back many fond memories.  Although my little go-getter is as fiery as ever, there is a growing tenderness about Emily, especially when it comes to her baby sister.  According to my sweet big girl, “Lauren is a present from God.”  Yes she is, Emily, and so are you.

Steven’s great milestone of 2011 is that he no longer thinks he’s a dog.  That’s right, he has stopped growling at most people.  It occurred to me around Thanksgiving that maybe Steven was growling because he desperately wanted to interact with others but didn’t know how.  We’ve had ourselves a little talk about manners and proper salutations and now Steven mostly says “hi” to people and is quick to give out hugs and kisses. Hopefully this means we will no longer have to leave restaurants due to all of the growling coming from our table.  We’re still working on not growling at babies, especially baby boys.  But Steven is starting to warm up to Lauren, especially now that she rolls over.  Perhaps he thinks she’s a dog.

Steven’s eyes are constantly changing.  The right eye, the one touched by Morning Glory Syndrome, is getting better and better with each visit.  And the left is starting to catch up.  There’s been only the slightest change in that eye, but it’s been enough improvement to need a new lens.   All praise and glory to Steven’s Healer!  We’re thankful for all of Dr. P.’s help, too.  We press on, not knowing what’s ahead, but claiming victory and hope for the day when Steven’s eyes are perfect in structure, strength and vision.

As for Greg and me, honestly we are so exhausted most of the time.  A scene from the movie Marley And Me comes to mind when I think of this season in life.  Remember the scene where Jennifer Aniston and Owen Wilson’s characters are lamenting on how HARD parenting is?  Everyone tried to warn them about the challenges of parenting, but they just didn’t listen.  Kinda how we’re feeling these days.  But the scene ends in affirmation.  Aniston and Wilson’s characters wouldn’t do anything different.  They love their children, they love each other, they love their life.  They even love their unruly canine Marley (and we love Steven).  I must be wired for struggle because even though my sanity is in question most days, this has been my very favorite season, challenges and all.   Our three children are a constant reminder of all that is tender in life.

I almost didn’t write a Christmas letter this year.  As I’ve said, this year’s been filled with extreme highs but also devastating lows.  I need to be real about that.  Yet I am compelled to write.  With a joyful heart I want you to know that we are hanging in there, not just surviving, but thriving because Hope has come!  Hallelujah, Hope has come!  He came as a tiny, helpless baby, much like baby Lauren.   And because He came and dwells with us, our hope cannot be shaken.  Merry Christmas.

Love,

Greg, Nicole, Emily, Steven & Lauren

Another Snowy Day

by //

Originally from early February, 2017

Today is another snow day for our district.  At this rate the last day of school will be near the end of June.  I am not complaining.  How we needed another day to get our hygge on!  This body of mine is still fighting a cold and nothing is more appealing than another day set aside for the one and only purpose of being lazy, to relish the rare gift of time to heal my body and soul.

There’s not a lot of snow at this point.  But it’s freezing and the ground is wet.  The Twedtlings refuse to play outside for very long.  I hardly blame them.  There’s not a lot of snow going on but roads are treacherous, so I’ve heard.  I haven’t driven anywhere or even left the house since Sunday.  Greg hasn’t had a problem getting to work.  Then again, his car is a snow champ.  Mine, not so much.  Home I shall stay.  Normally cabin fever would rear it’s ugly face by now, but I am loving this.   Bring on the snow days!

I wrote a post yesterday.  It was intense, even by Nicole standards.  Just writing about what happened, the practice of putting words to feelings, is a tremendous thing.   It feels ugly at the time, putting myself out there.  Even if it’s not out there-out there, since I have yet to introduce my blog to the wide open and scary spaces of the internet.  By the way, the post I wrote, it will never see the light of day because it isn’t entirely my story to tell.   I had to get it out in order to process this wild thing called grief.  But it involves someone else and their lack of processing, or processing the only way they knew to do it.  Hurt people hurt people, and that’s about all I should say.

I can say this:  I’m starting to wonder if there’s more to do with the havoc in my present life than what happened twenty-plus years ago.  I grieve more than death.  I’m very much struggling with the trauma of Steven’s birth defect and vision impairments, and I’m deeply scarred by Lauren’s hearing journey.  It’s an alternative form of grief, but grief all the same.  And I’m feeling guilty for being heartbroken in the first place since God has done amazing things in both of their stories.   Add to it, I’ve never had the luxury of time to process the latest bits of my own hearing loss story. I’ll have to go there eventually.

I’ve pondered the idea of being brave over the last few years.  Maybe being brave right now means declaring out loud that I don’t have my act together.  I was never supposed to have it all together.  My shoulders aren’t wide enough or strong enough to carry past hurts or the wounds of the world.  But they don’t have to be.  I’m reminded of Jesus and how he calls me to come to him, leaving the heavy burdens of life at his feet.

It’s humbling to admit that I’m deeply broken.  I don’t like saying that I’m really just clawing towards the light, scratching to grasp onto what I know is true.  I know where I’m headed, I’ll get there in time, but the process, oh the process.

I recently bought a print to hang next to my bed.  It’s one of those Bible verses with fancy pants lettering that are everywhere these days.  It’s part of Ecclesiastes 3:11, “He has made everything beautiful in its time.”  I’m counting on this promise.  Only the designer wrote it’s instead of its and the English major snob in me can’t get over it.  And when I finally did get over it and had the print framed and ready to go, I noticed the verse’s address was printed as Ecclesiastes 33:11 instead of 3:11.  I’m no Bible scholar but I can’t get over that one.  It won’t do.  Not that anyone beyond Greg and me would see it.  But I see it, and it was supposed hang next to my side of the bed.

I placed a second print underneath the bogus Ecclesiastes one, before I knew it was bogus.  They were all part of a close-out sale.  It’s a Christmas print with lyrics from O Holy Night.  The plan was to switch it out with Ecclesiastes and hang it in the living room during Advent.

A thrill of hope

A weary world rejoices

This one is going up.  On the wall next to our bed.   White chalk lettering on a blackboard, without the dust thank you very much.  The print suites our bedroom well.  After all, I was a teacher in a former life.  Added bonus, I fall asleep on my back but wake facing that side of the room.  Hope.  Rejoice.  The first words I will see in the morning.

I am weary.  But I’m holding onto hope.  I will rejoice.