Never Easy - Always Good

TikTok · NeverEasyAlwaysGood

💜☀️ “I want to pick up groceries. Can you make me a list?”

Those are words that still take some getting used to.

To be honest, they throw me for a loop.

Often, I don’t even know how to respond.

Usually, I hold back a little and say something like,

“Creamer would be great.”

Because apparently accepting help is its own kind of growing up.

Add to that the certain amount of control I like to have over the food that comes into my house, the meals I plan to make, what we need, what we don’t need, and suddenly a simple grocery run becomes an internal battle of trust.

They are trying to make my life easier.

And I am trying not to micromanage the lettuce.

This is one of the strange, beautiful parts of raising children into adults.

There was a time when the groceries were my responsibility.

Dinner was my responsibility.

The planning was my responsibility.

And now, little by little, some of my adult children are stepping into those spaces and saying,

“I’ve got this.”

They make dinner.

They buy groceries.

They brush hair.

They step into difficult behaviors.

They notice when I am tired.

They see the weight I am carrying and, instead of simply adding their own needs to the pile, they try to take something off.

That shift means more to me than they probably realize.

Because one of my favorite seasons of motherhood is when my child becomes my friend.

When the adult I raised starts to see things with a little more grace and understanding.

When advice that once felt like intrusion begins to look a little more like wisdom.

When they can look back at their own choices and imagine how they might have responded if they had been standing in my shoes.

It doesn’t happen overnight.

And apparently neither does my ability to hand over the grocery list.

Maybe God is teaching me that raising capable adults also means trusting the work He has done in them and loosening my grip enough to let them carry something.

So, yes.

Creamer would be great.

And next time, I might even give them the whole list.

💜🌙 “Sometimes the things we create are simply the lessons we’ve lived, handed to someone else with hope.”

💜☀️ I sat down today to do yesterday’s devo.

Being a day behind isn’t my norm, but with the way life has been moving lately, it’s also not exactly shocking. 😂

The question had me thinking about who I could lift up.

And my first thought was:

That’s why I write.

Actually, it’s the main reason I write.

It’s the main reason I create.

For a long time, that desire has shaped some of the biggest decisions of my life.

It was part of why we became foster parents.

Why we adopted.

Why disability was never something that made us turn away from saying yes to a child.

I wanted my kids to have the opportunity to live a life that might look different from the one their circumstances predicted for them.

To experience things.

To make memories.

To discover what they enjoy.

To be challenged, fail, and try again.

To begin seeing themselves as people created with purpose and hope, rather than being defined by what happened to them, what someone said about them, or what a diagnosis might suggest their life should look like.

And somewhere along the way, I realized I wanted to do something similar for other people too.

That’s why I write about the hard things.

Not because I have figured out how to make the road easy.

I haven’t.

I write because maybe something I learned while walking my road can make somebody else’s next step a little easier.

And I think that’s also why I create.

Even Merry Memories.

I’m making it for moms like me.

The moms who want to give their families good memories while also carrying a whole lot of real life.

The mom with great intentions and a tired brain.

The mom working with a budget.

The mom thinking about sensory needs, personalities, ages, energy levels, complicated family dynamics, and whether everyone is going to completely lose it if she adds one more thing to the calendar.

😂

She doesn’t necessarily need another beautiful list of 47 things she should be doing before Christmas.

She may just need somebody to say:

Tell me about your people.

Tell me what you have to work with.

Tell me what matters to you.

Now let’s figure out something good.

Maybe that’s what lifting people up can look like too.

Taking what God has taught us through our own lives and using it to give somebody else a little encouragement, a little hope, or maybe even one less thing to figure out.

I sat down today to do yesterday’s devo.

Turns out, I think God had already been working on the answer.

💜☀️

“How can I help? What can I do to make things easier?”

Kevin asked me that yesterday.

And for just a second, I wished I could hand him the whole list.

The bills. The schedules. The legal things. The decisions. The things I still don’t know how I’m going to figure out.

There was a time when I could have sat down with my husband, laid all the pieces out between us, and together we would have figured out what came next.

Some things are different now.

There are problems I simply can’t hand him anymore, because trying to solve them can send his mind down a rabbit hole. The problem becomes another problem and another one after that, until the thing he wanted to help carry becomes something weighing on him instead.

So I was grateful for the offer.

Grateful for the man who still wants to make things easier for me.

And I kept figuring things out.

This morning I woke up at 4:00.

No alarm needed.

Apparently my brain already knew there were too many things waiting for me to sleep until 5:00.

I had been trying to convince myself I could sleep a little later again.

Then school started.

So much for that.

I was behind on my devotions, so I sat down and did yesterday’s and today’s before anything else.

I needed to get my head straight with the Lord before I started trying to get everything else straight.

By 5:00, I was in the car taking one of my adult kids to work.

This may be one of the last times I have to make that early-morning drive, and strangely enough, I think I’m going to miss it.

Not the 4:00 a.m. part.

Definitely not the 4:00 a.m. part.

But the quiet car.

The conversation.

Those few minutes when there isn’t anyone else around and we just talk.

Then it was home to make sure Ben was up, fed and moving because today is freshman orientation.

Freshman orientation.

I’m still trying to figure out when that happened.

I almost missed knowing about it completely because somehow we didn’t get the information, but a friend stepped in and volunteered to pick him up and get him there.

Sometimes grace looks remarkably ordinary.

Sometimes it sounds like,

“I can take him.”

And the rest of today?

A meeting about my business and how to make what I’m building financially sustainable.

A meeting at the college about helping Jillian begin this next chapter with the support she needs.

Therapy schedules that no longer fit school schedules.

Caregiver schedules.

Transportation.

Legal things.

Financial things.

Bills.

Decisions.

Things I know I need to take care of and things I still have no idea how I’m going to take care of.

And there are moments when I really wish I could sit across from my husband and say,

“Okay. Here is everything. Help me figure this out.”

Maybe that is part of why God gave me 4:00 this morning.

Before the schedules.

Before the phone calls.

Before the meetings.

Before I started trying to figure out how to make enough money, be enough mom, remember enough details, and get everybody where they need to go...

I needed to remember who God is.

And here is the part that got me.

Yesterday, I wrote about something God was showing me.

Then this morning I opened the devotional I hadn’t gotten around to reading yesterday...

and there it was.

The same truth.

Waiting for me.

Even when I hadn’t made time for God, God had already made time for me.

He had already been meeting me in my thoughts.

Already reminding me what was true.

Already working in a day I hadn’t even reached yet.

I don’t have today figured out.

I don’t have the finances figured out.

I don’t have Kevin’s future figured out.

I’m still not entirely sure how the therapy schedule is going to work.

But maybe I don’t have to see the whole day before I can see God in it.

He was there at 4:00, before anyone else was awake.

He was there in the quiet conversation on the drive to work.

He was there in a friend saying, “I can take him.”

And apparently He was thinking ahead about dinner too, because church is feeding us tonight.

I still have a lot to figure out.

But this morning reminded me that I’m not walking into a day God hasn’t already entered.

And for today, that’s enough. 💜

💜🌙 “When some of the hard is taken away, there’s more room to say yes.”

More room for laughter.

More room for imperfect little Christmas trees.

More room to actually be part of the memory.

💜😎 What happens when I tell Merry Memories almost nothing?

This morning I told you a little about the why behind creating it.

This afternoon, I thought I would show you what it actually does.

So I opened Merry Memories and chose:

Surprise me.

Then I gave it just a few pieces of information.

A mix of ages.

A free-to-moderate budget.

And one word:

Sensory.

That was it.

And from that, look what it gave me.

A sensory-friendly Christmas lights adventure.

Not just, “Go look at Christmas lights.”

It gave me a scavenger hunt.

Ideas for keeping the evening calm.

Ways for everyone to participate differently.

Suggestions for avoiding sensory overload.

And even a reminder that nobody has to “finish everything” for the night to count.

Then I typed:

Expand on this.

And it did.

It turned one simple idea into a fuller family adventure with a gentle rhythm, easy games, snacks, sensory supports, and ways to make the whole thing feel special without making it complicated.

This is the part I have been trying so hard to explain.

Merry Memories isn't a list of Christmas ideas you have to make fit your family.

It starts with your family and builds from there.

Your ages.

Your budget.

Your energy.

Your needs.

Your traditions.

Your real life.

Because sometimes the difference between “That sounds fun” and “Let's actually do it” is having someone help with the thinking.

And if you're usually the one doing all that thinking...

that's exactly why I made this. 💜

I put the link to the full six-minute demonstration in the comments if you'd like to watch Merry Memories work.

💜☀️ Yesterday, at 60 years old, I sat at my desk editing a screen recording of a GPT I created.

Last week, I had no idea there was a “screen record” button on my phone.

I woke up yesterday, unaware that by dinnertime, I would know how to edit digital video.

This time last year, I didn't even know what a GPT was.

And somehow, all of that made me think about the little girl I used to be.

Growing up, I wasn't the smart kid.

I wasn't the wise kid.

I wasn't even the particularly kind kid.

But I knew how to get what I wanted.

I was independent. Self-promoting. Determined. I could figure things out and get things done—as long as I wanted to do them.

Over the years, I've battled that self-promoting child and pretty much locked her away.

I've had to humble that fierce independence enough to learn how to follow.

I've had to accept that being capable doesn't mean I have to be in charge.

And I've learned to do plenty of things I didn't particularly want to do simply because they needed to be done.

If you're a parent—or even just a responsible adult—you understand that one.

God has spent a lot of years working on that girl.

But lately, I've been wondering if maybe He never intended to remove all those parts of me.

Maybe He intended to change what they were for.

Because yesterday I sat at my desk doing something I would never have imagined myself doing.

I had recorded my screen so I could show people how Merry Memories works.

Then, I taught myself how to edit that twelve-minute recording down to six minutes.

Then I figured out how to get it onto its own product page.

None of those things were on my list of things I ever wanted to learn.

But I learned them anyway.

Because somewhere along the way, the reason I want to get things done changed.

I created Merry Memories for the person who usually makes Christmas happen.

The one thinking about everyone else.

The one remembering the calendar, the budget, the personalities, the traditions, the sensory needs, the things everyone loves, and the things that absolutely will not work.

The one who wants to make the season special but would also really like to enjoy some of it herself.

I didn't want to hand her a list of impossibilities—things that look and sound wonderful but, realistically, would create more disappointment than awe.

I wanted to help her create amazing memories that actually fit her life.

Her budget.

Her energy.

Something that could get to know her actual family and help her create ideas that actually fit.

Ideas she can look through and say:

Yes.

Nope.

Maybe.

Ohhhh…they would LOVE that.

Because I say something around our house all the time:

“Make my life easier, not harder.” 😂

It usually gets a laugh.

But I've realized there's quite a bit of truth behind it.

When some of the hard is taken away, there's more room to say yes.

More room to enjoy.

More room to actually be part of the memory instead of always being the person behind the scenes creating it.

Maybe that's why I'm learning technology and programs and video editing and Pinterest and all these things I never expected to be learning at 60.

That little girl who knew how to get what she wanted is still in here.

But God has humbled her independence.

He's taught her to follow.

He's taught her to do the things she doesn't necessarily want to do.

And somewhere along the way, He changed what she's working so hard to get.

And maybe now He's asking me to unlock just enough of that self-promoting girl to tell you about something I made—not because I need you to see me...

but because I want you to know...

I see you. 💜

💜😎 Sometimes God's blessings are hanging on a Costco rack with a $4.97 price tag.

Saturday, while we were at the pool, I noticed something.

The girls' bathing suits weren't fitting quite like they had at the beginning of summer.

Which makes sense, considering they weren't actually from the beginning of this summer.

They were from last summer.

The summer we drove across the country to bring Emily home and stopped at Great Wolf Lodge along the way.

Apparently children have the audacity to keep growing between family adventures.

Who knew?

😂

I filed the bathing suit situation away in that part of my brain that is almost always working a few steps ahead.

Because coming up very soon is Brooklynn's mandatory 13-year-old birthday trip to Disneyland.

I say "mandatory" with a smile, but I also mean it.

The trip is actually a couple of months late.

But it is happening.

There are some traditions and promises that carry more weight in our family than someone looking in from the outside might understand.

Trauma can magnify disappointment.

It can take something that might feel small to someone else and make it much bigger—in thought, in emotion, in value.

So I think ahead.

A lot.

Not because I am incredibly organized.

Mostly because I would like my sanity to last a little longer. 😂

If I can see something coming and take care of it before it becomes urgent, I try to do it.

Which brings me back to Costco on Sunday.

There I was, getting the groceries we needed, when I came across women's bathing suits.

$4.97.

Not $24.97.

Not $14.97.

Four dollars and ninety-seven cents.

I bought four.

Because when bathing suits cost less than the milk and cheese sitting in my cart, the decision has pretty much been made for me.

😂

And now one more little piece of that upcoming trip is handled.

That's the kind of thing I notice.

Maybe you do too.

The small provisions that show up before you even quite know how you're going to solve the problem.

I don't believe every sale sticker is a message from God.

But I absolutely believe He knows what I need.

And sometimes His provision shows up in places I wasn't particularly looking for it.

Not every blessing arrives with fireworks.

Sometimes you're pushing a Costco cart, thinking three steps ahead about your family...

and there it is.

$4.97.

Exactly when you needed it.

💜☀️ Apparently, three kids in the back third of an SUV can fill the entire thing with conversation.

Yesterday morning, we loaded everybody up for church and stopped to pick up Grandma along the way.

That put Ben, Brooklynn, and Karsten shoulder to shoulder in the back third of the vehicle.

Talking.

And talking.

And talking.

They were pretty much the only people having a conversation, yet somehow their voices managed to occupy every available square inch of the car.

In the middle row sat Grandma and Jillian. Jillian had her headphones on, plugged into her music and perfectly content in her own little world.

Kevin and I were up front.

Mostly quiet.

Listening to the back third of the vehicle apparently solve all the world's problems.

When we got to church, everyone unloaded and I headed over to sit at one of the tables on the patio.

Usually Kevin gets his mom out of the car. He gets her walker, helps her stand, and they make their way inside.

So I sat and waited.

And waited a little longer.

Then Kevin came rushing over.

He couldn't get his mom out of the car.

He was frustrated, but he was also afraid she was going to fall.

Alzheimer's doesn't always leave a lot of room for patience in moments like that. He loves his mom and wanted to help her, but his brain wasn't giving him much grace for a situation that wasn't going according to plan.

So I went back to the car to see what was going on.

It didn't take long to realize Grandma wasn't going to make it into church that morning.

Everyone else was already there, so they stayed.

I climbed back into the driver's seat and headed toward Grandma's care home.

She felt terrible.

She didn't want me to have to drive her all the way back. More than that, she didn't want me to miss church because of her.

But I told her something I believe with my whole heart.

God will meet me wherever I am.

He can meet me sitting in the sanctuary.

He can meet me in my kitchen.

And He can certainly meet me behind the steering wheel, driving Grandma back to where she needed to be.

God gave me this life.

It's not like He's going to give it to me and then leave me high and dry when actually living it takes me somewhere other than where I planned to be.

And that drive gave Grandma and me something we probably wouldn't have had if everything had gone according to plan.

Time alone.

The vehicle that had been overflowing with voices just a few minutes earlier was suddenly quiet enough for the two of us to have a personal conversation.

Just Grandma and me.

When we got back to her care home, I got her settled and found some of her friends.

Then I gave them an assignment.

Grandma needs to walk more, so I told them I needed their help getting her up and moving.

Actually, I believe my instructions were:

"Nag her."

😂

Then I headed back toward church.

And started thinking.

I could go back, walk into church late and catch what was left of the service.

Then, when church was over, we could all go to Costco together.

Now, I normally enjoy Costco with the rest of the Executive Members before 10 a.m. on a weekday.

It's practically civilized.

Costco on a Sunday with the family?

That's too much to even think about.

Because "the family" in this particular Costco equation means:

Alzheimer's.

Autism.

Down syndrome.

Down syndrome.

Trauma.

And me.

At Costco.

On a Sunday.

Or...

I could go by myself.

Suddenly this did not feel like a particularly difficult decision.

😂

So I went to Costco.

I filled the car with gas.

I grabbed the essentials we needed.

I picked up pizza and salad for lunch.

Then I drove back to church, picked everybody up, and we headed home.

And once again, the back third of the vehicle was full.

This time, mostly with flats of groceries.

The conversation had simply moved one row forward.

Well, most of it.

Karsten was still in the back row, now within arm's reach of the bread, cheese, milk, and the four women's bathing suits I bought for the girls because they were $4.97 each.

Apparently, $4.97 is where a bathing suit becomes a grocery item. 😂

Costco was done.

Lunch was handled.

And an errand that could have taken a whole lot more energy from every single one of us was already checked off the list.

Which meant the rest of our Sunday could be a little more peaceful.

I didn't make it into the sanctuary yesterday.

But I had a conversation with Grandma I wouldn't have had otherwise.

I took care of something my family needed.

I brought everybody lunch.

And I made the rest of our day a little easier.

God gave me this life.

I don't believe He expects me to step outside of it to find Him.

He's already here.