To My Father.

To my father: 

I love you. 

I think God understands your anger. 

I think God understands mom's heartache. 

I think God understands me and my sisters fear. 

I think God understands human suffering, but knows we never will. 

I think disease is like a tragic car accident for most people that they casually drive by on the freeway. 

They look in their rear view mirror at the mangled mess and say, "man looks bad," but never think of that scene again a mile down the road. 

You don't know disease until what you love is tainted by it. 

It is unlike any other tragedy because nobody can see it. 

It's not something a human can wrap their hands around. 

We only feel the aftershock of its blows. 

I can't really say I know what you feel. 

To want to be the stone foundation of your family, the strong fortress for those you love, yet you feel like you can no longer shield us. 

You have been my hero even before you knew I liked you. 

I remember the exact moment I really saw you. 

I was a little thing; tight curls glued to my head and eyes bigger than my face. 

You came home in your business suit with your black suitcase that I tried breaking into any chance I got. 

You sat down in a pink chair the size of your hand & drank invisible tea with that little girl who felt so small. 

You made me feel like I was the only person who mattered as you ate fake cookies I sat before you. 

From that evening on, I've seen you and loved you more than anyone could love their father. 

When you feel small, know I still see you as the man with his briefcase, sitting down to my tea party; the greatest, most precious father a girl could know. 

When you feel weak, know I still see you as the man who threw me on his shoulders after that baseball game on a summer night. 

You saw the storm brewing and tossed me up like a bag of feathers. You ran from the stadium all the way to the car with my chin bouncing up and down on your scalp. 

I was scared of storms, but not that night; my dad was strong and instead of feeling fear I felt safety. 

You are still that dad that would set me on his back and do push ups in our living room as I giggled all the way. 

You are still the man that took me and my sister kite flying every chance you got. 

When you feel helpless, know you helped me. 

As a person, I don't have any of the answers. 

As a girl who loves Jesus, I know I never will and I'm trying to be okay with that. 

As your daughter, the only thing I know is that I love you; that somehow I know we're gonna be alright. 

Confessions of a Stepmom

    I never saw myself as the "motherly" type of gal.

I've always joked with those in my life that God forgot to put the womanly qualities in me; cooking, nurturing, the works. 

You know, the stuff that makes your mom a mom. 

When I was growing up during the holidays all the girls would be prepping, baking and talking jargon like "put it on broil at such & such degrees for so & so minutes until browned." 

I'm sorry, what? 

I was typically in the living room with my dad and all the uncles listening to talk about hunting and whatever else men discuss. 

Talk of politics would be floating somewhere in the background as a television show about southern men catching large bass flickered on and off. 

I had no interest in hunting or baking pies. 

My interest was eating. 

I never was the little girl that wanted to play mommy & daddy. 

I played adventures! 

Princess! 

Heroes! 

Villains! 

While other little girls daydreamed about their future husband I had fantasies of saving the world.

Just Britney. 

Solo. 

Ms. Independent. 

Dressing up in a white sheet pretending it was your wedding day seemed pretty lame to me. 

Who wants a flimsy dress when you can have a cape? 

Obviously the teen years hit and boys came into my world like a meteor struck straight into my core. 

I made countless foolish decisions like many teenage girls who are in deep, wreck less "love" do. 

My stance on children never wavered even when I dated someone who desperately wanted children. 

Something just wouldn't settle. 

I got the typical, "ohhhh you're just young. You'll change your mind!"

Didn't happen. 

I grimaced at mothers who licked their fingers and wiped their kids' day old chocolate off their face. 

"Ohhh it's different when their your own. You just wait!"

I am currently 23 years old.

I still grimace at the mom spit move. 

I am full of sarcasm and a "suck it up" attitude. 

I make mistakes. A lot. 

Choice words fall off my lips when I step in mud puddles. 

I've got 13 tattoos and I fancy lip rings. 

I like "that's what she said" jokes entirely too much. 

But there's one thing God instilled in me from the start: deep, unconditional, unwavering, loyal love for those that I let into my heart. 

Some people naturally waltz into my heart effortlessly while others have had to fight their way in. 

There are three boys that danced in like it was always how it is now. 

Like a natural occurrence. 

Like how the sun rises every single morning. 

Coming in so late isn't easy. 

Any step parent will tell you that. 

Some days I go to sleep with less hair than when I woke up with that day. 

Some days...I go to bed smiling from the sweetest hug or "goodnight Britney". 

Sunday night, our oldest hugged my neck and told me he loved me for the first time since I made the transition here. 

My heart swelled with pure joy-a joy I can't remember ever feeling before. 

At that moment, my world tilted.

All of those moments where I felt broken or confused as to why I couldn't picture myself having a child of my own burst into a million fragments.

I imagine the way my spirit felt when I heard those words fall off tiny lips was how Edison felt when he saw the glow of light for the first time. 

I am most certainly still learning how to navigate the ship of parenting. 

God knew what He was doing long before I knew Him. 

He saw me with glazed eyes as other little girls sang "hear comes the bride" with a funny piece of toilet paper hovering over their face to attempt a veil. 

He saw before I did that I would one day step into this challenging, beautiful, rewarding role of a step parent. 

When people raise their eyebrows at me and ask, "so you think you're ready to be a mother to three boys?" I know they don't understand the dynamics of this whole step mom thing. 

I am Britney. 

To those three boys, I am Britney.

I'm not here to replace or to be their mother. 

I'm here to love them as hard as I can as Britney.

When they fall off their bike.

When they get their heart broken.

When they get a bad grade.

When they need a bandaid, a kiss on a scraped knee or just a pat on the head with my typical "Hey kiddo."

That's what I am. 

I will be their cheerleader.

I will guide them as far as I know to go.

I will protect them before protecting myself. 

I will sacrifice late nights with friends for sleep overs in the living room. 

I'm 100% human with a 100% chance of screwing up a few good times as I sail the seas of growth. 

I am constantly still trying to find my footing in this climb.

Every giggle, kiss on the cheek, hand holding I receive is a confirmation of where my heart belongs even on the days I can't seem to wrap my mind around the journey I'm on. 

I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I have ended up where I needed to be.