Today I looked in the mirror and wondered at the woman looking out at me. I barely recognized her yet she was very familiar. I thought back to my birthday last year... it was so much simpler last year. The worries of finding a bigger apartment and the questions surrounding a broken relationship seem so insignificant now.

This last year was a year that saw the greatest spiritual growth in my lifetime. The woman in the mirror has an assurance and a confidence that comes only from a year of the hottest fires imaginable. Trials I never dreamed I could survive...let alone grow and even rejoice over.

I don't cringe at the imperfections in her physical body quite as much... oh they are still there and I don't love them...but they do not define who she is, no matter who tries to make them.

And sometimes she has a bad hair day or the make-up isn't quite right... but her smile comes from her very depths. Her smile isn't quite as carefree as it used to be...but it is genuine and true.

She is a warrior in her own right, and she carries scars and a few wounds from her battle...but she stands strong and victorious.

I think she is stunning as she reflects the love of her Savior. My prayer is to see her everyday until I someday see Jesus face to face. That she will continue to carry the glow of her special and constant encounters with God Almighty.

Thank you Lord, for the last year. I don't think I could have ever imagined gratitude at the start...

Last night I had some very much needed me time. Nothing exceptional, but I dropped the kids off with Steven for a couple of hours and spent some time listing to the soundtrack of Miss Saigon.

I came home intending to blog for all my three readers, but was so caught up in the music I couldn't concentrate to write. Every sentence started out deep and thoughtful and trailed off in to music about a brokenhearted girl in Vietnam.

I had more than a few moments of fond memories, playing this CD in my car through my final months of highschool after my good friend played it for me while we discussed our mutual gradeschool crushes on Chad Allen and how we had both entered the Teen Beat contest to win a bracelet he had made... Memories of my sweet husband, who hates musicals, getting all of our friends and family to contribute to two tickets in the very last row of the Ahmanson theater so that I could finally see the show I had so loved from the first note.

I smiled at how, after having been put away for several years, every note and word were as fresh as in those first few weeks.

It felt really good to have just let go of the trials of the last few days and just be silly and light.

I keep saying I'm going to start going to bed earlier. That I'll shut off the TV, the lights, and the computer before 11pm and catch my full eight hours before any of my children are tapping me on the shoulder asking about breakfast or Super Mario Bros.

That I will do what's right and proper in Mommyland and be an early to bed, early to rise, Proverbs 31 woman.

The truth is, when I do manage an early bed time I am usually just called back out by the needs of one of my children in the middle of the night. So tonight as I debated an 11pm cup of coffee or bedtime my oldest son made the decision for me when I heard him stumble out of bed making a sound that breaks a mother's heart. The all to familiar sound of closing bronchi and my sweet baby struggling for breath.

I couldn't help but think how much I hate this for him. Hate to see him hurting for something so basic as air to breathe. It seems so unfair. Only, to him, it's just how things are. It's just a part of his life to need breathing treatments in the night. I am so glad for him that it's only "as needed" and not a part of everyday. If it were, however, he would just do it. He doesn't know any different and he doesn't really know he's being short changed.

If anything it's a special time for him. Awake in the quite, getting his back scratched and drinking hot cider after his treatment. A little time just he and I. For him, it's special.

I could learn a lot from my boy.

It seems funny to me that, at nearly 33 years old, it's hard to know how to take a compliment. I mean, shouldn't I be able to just say "Thank You" and take it in and know I am good at something? Why do I feel like that makes me prideful, like I have to apologize for thinking I've done well?

It's so much easier to play the tapes in my head that tell me I am less. That I am not any of the special things that God has created. That my gifts are somehow less valuable, less special. Just less. Easier to tell myself my impact is small and meaningless.

This is one of my fears, and one I've only recently realized I still carry. That I will live my life and not make an impact. That I will live and die and when I am gone the world will be no different for me having been here.

When I was a child I wanted to be a star. Huge Academy Award winning actress. I wanted everyone to know my name. Even then, I wanted to matter.

The reality is I will probably never win an Oscar. I will continue to be a stay-at-home mom to my children and a wife to my husband. I will continue to serve God. The world will probably never know much about a Southern California girl named Alexis. But my family will know me, my friends, my church they will know me.

It is my goal to be someone who's life points people to God. That even after I am standing before Him, face to face, Eden in my arms again, my life will still be glorifying Him. This is what it is to truly matter. What it is to make a lasting impact.

The world may never know my name, but My God already does.

I wish there was a way I could blog from the shower. It seems like that's the only time I really get to think. It's where I have some serious aha moments, and where I find it easiest to connect with God. It's a beautiful combination of being alone, white noise, relaxation, and yummy relaxing smells. And did I mention being alone?

Tonight, for example I escaped to the shower while my three kids ran the house. I'm not sure what exactly they were doing but nothing burned down, no one was bleeding when it was over, and the screaming was dulled by the sound of the shower beating down on the glass shower door...so all in all, it was a great 10 minutes. While I was there my mind wandered and I was able to ponder so many things...

I thought a lot about my current bible study, about the seemingly minute details that keep popping out at me. Evidence of the spiritual journey behind me and the exciting (if not slightly terrifying) adventure before me.

I stood there and thought about the precipice I am standing on right now. In the past 10 or 12 years I have come to notice a pattern of growth in my life. It's not something I ever enjoy, but it's a familiar feeling. When I quiet myself and sit in the presence of God I feel this stirring of my spirit. Not that beautiful sensation of communing totally with God, but an anxious feeling reminiscent of being interrogated under a hot white light. The feeling that someone is scrutinizing every inch of my soul. Turning on every light and revealing the hidden corners of my very soul.

I recognize the feeling and what I want to do is run. Run like my life depends on it. Get far away from this uncomfortable feeling. Just escape it all together.

This time I am doing everything I can to sit. To sit and wait on God. To trust that I am being led through this forest into a prairie of unimagined blessings... because I know that's how God works with me. I have never been aware that this was the sign so I have never truly experienced the vulnerability of this step. I have tried to hide. Tried to fix. Tried to work through. But this time? This time I am going to let God lead and I will follow with my blindfold on.

I am afraid of the snares along the journey, but I will trust that He Who Loves Me Most is guiding me.

I just tucked a handful of kisses and an armload of hugs into my pockets. Kisses flung from the little step that leads to the upper level of our house, flung by a little girl who is going to be grown before I even blink.

These kisses were fought for. Not tonight, but it seems everyday brings new challenges with her. Everyday we seem to butt heads a little more. So it's these moments where we can find reconnection that keep us both going.

It seems like this aspect of our relationship sprouted over night, and at times it breaks my heart. She is not bad or disobedient, really. It's just a special kind of tension between mothers and daughters. A tension I once thought I was never going to experience, but here it is.

In quiet moment, when I really think about it, I'm kind of proud of her fierce determination. Proud that she has such a strong sense of self, that she'll not be swayed even by her own mother. I can only hope I have had some of the honor of imparting that to her. And I can only pray that I will be obedient to God in helping to mold that into the dynamic woman of God she is called to be.

I am amazed everyday at these little people that God has entrusted to my care. Amazed at the profound responsibility to parent them and that He chose me to do it.

That El Roi, the God Who Sees Me, believes in me enough to give me this great honor...and I thank God for that.

It occurs to me that, now that I have begun blogging, I often want to write about things that have nothing to do with Eden, our life with her, or the roller coaster that is life without her.

It's not so much that I would find it dishonorable to do so in her blog, but it would distract me from what that blog is all about. It's also really nice to have that one space set apart...a special place to go and learn, mourn, grow, and just reflect on this amazing miracle of being her mother.

So here I am and i feel like this should also be poignant and moving, should be deeply spiritual, but it's just about me being me. I hope and pray that God is still glorified in it, because I hope he's glorified in me living my life.

This year we started homeschooling our two oldest children. What a wild time to start. I'm super grateful we had made the decision before we found out about Eden's anencephaly, or I might not have gone ahead. It was wonderful though, to be able to have them here, where they could freely process and mourn their sister.

But this blog isn't about Eden...

It's been frustrating at times trying to make such a transition. Frustrating for the kids and for me. They expect certain things and so do I. Some of it is reasonable and some just isn't, on both sides.

The thing I most want for them is to find the joy of learning just for the sake of learning. To learn new processes and get new ideas. That's not what they have been learning in public school. There they have learned how to take tests and get the correct answer. I'm not really concerned with the correct answer, just that they know how to get there.

This is most evident in my daughter, who will try every answer on the multiple choice until she has the right one, or who will cry that she needs help, when what she wants is for me to give her the right answer.

Imagine my utter joy when I saw her just sorting things into groups the other day, she's 7, and she was talking to me about how she was sorting them. I can't remember if it was hairbands or Polly Pockets, but I remember she was happy when she realized she could sort them one way but she could also switch her groups around and sort them this way, or....

This probably seems small. I almost missed it myself. The thing is, she has worksheets on just this thing. If she were in school she'd be tested on it and it would stress her out to not know exactly how her teacher wanted her to group things.

This was her discovering a process and going with it. Playing with it and learning something, all on her own. With no tears or stress.

What a good day.