Buti Yoga Recap

I don't like being "bad" at things-I am competitive, love to succeed and am typically the one screaming "WINNNERRRRR-I WINNNN-WINNINGGGG!" in someone's face when I beat them. Hashtag character flaw. 

Since I've stepped into the fitness world for enjoyment but also as a career, I was deemed as "bad" at yoga. I don't know where I derived the idea from, as no "flexy Brenda" yoga mom ever told me I was. They probably never even looked my direction, but I felt it.

Running and working out and....let's just be honest, my straight up lack of flexibility, has caused me to barely be able to touch my toes. I'm the girl who can only manage a "shin touch", the girl who sighs with relief when the instructor says to go into child's pose because I'm really good at things like laying on the ground. 

My best friend and I decided to try out a local Buti Yoga class this morning-no literally, we just up and decided yesterday we'd try this crap. Jenn is a natural yogi-she's going to be flexy Jenn yoga mom in a few months, while I'm still struggling to touch my toes. I still love her, even though she's bendy naturally. I walked in totally uptight and honestly, afraid. Let's be real-sometimes walking into a room of women you don't know can be intimidating.

Should I put my mat in the back? 
Is this someone's spot? 
Will they like me? 
Should I cover my ass up more before walking in here? 
Will they roll their eyes at my lack of yogi-ness? 
Why are you doing this Britney, don't you remember that you couldn't even do a Herkey move when you tried out for (and FAILED) dance team in Jr. High? 
YOU ARE NOT MADE FOR YOGA. 

Let me tell you something, fellow "bad" yogis...You are not bad at yoga, and Buti taught me that this morning.
Immediately greeted by a flow of friendship, community and straight up kick-ass woman power, I settled onto my mat and faced myself in the mirror. Strings of beautiful women with every body shape stretched, giggled and let jokes flow. Some wore tanks, yoga pants, shorty shorts, some even in just their sports bra.
But want to know something beautiful? Nobody cared.
You didn't think about outfits, you didn't think about body rolls or cellulite that might be peeking out of your shorts. 

The only concern with your body was celebrating it, it's potential, it's growth, it's sensuality. 

Buti is perfect for every woman, but especially for the one who has felt out of sorts as they attempted to balance in tree pose, who really just wants to yell out a string of extremities when they try to touch their nose to their knee, the one who feels "bad" at yoga, and the one who wants to forget the pointless shame she feels for taking up space. 

In Buti, you are constantly moving from one pose to the next, shaking your booty, enjoying the best (no, seriously) jamming music around, and guess what-it's okay to yell, whoop, holler, laugh, tell jokes, throughout the entirety of the class.

I have zero zen-silence doesn't calm me. Know what gets all the toxic, yucky, mucky, stresses of life out for me? Rap music. Dancing. Laughing with girlfriends. Sweating.

Guess what has all of these things perfectly and beautifully packaged up for you, with a ribbon of girl power tied at the top?

Mother. Freaking. Buti. Yoga. 

Zumba: Bringing Sensuality Back

I'll be the first to admit to anyone that I was once a Zumba critic, so much to the point that when the "crew" popped into the gym, I announced that the Zumba moms had arrived! At the time, the only thing they meant to me was a full childcare room. I can openly admit my own suckiness now because Zumba has transformed a huge part of my life.

DA HECK? Zumba, freaking Zumba, transforming your life? It seems extreme, I know. I'm the kind of person that makes fun of people for statements like this (again, I can admit my own suckiness). But-it's true. I'm a Zumba mom.

There, I said it, ya'll. I'm a twerking, bumping, jumping, "whoo whoo"ing, Zumba mom. 

Something happens to women as we age (don't hate cause you ain't 27 anymore, sorry), and I'm not talking about the way our body stretches, or caves, or slows. It's more than a physical alteration; it's an overarching decline in freaking feeling ourselves. No, we don't go to clubs anymore, unless eating a club sandwich in my yoga pants (which I never do yoga in) whilst watching HGTV counts. The all-nighters are no longer by choice and finding time to see your friends is like me doing yoga-it just doesn't happen, okay?

We lose the moments of looking in the mirror and loving our bodies, breaking it down in the shower; we become afraid to dance like people ARE watching; we become afraid of feeling sexy. 

Damn it, y'all- why? Aging can be so rockin', so why are we dampening and diluting ourselves? We should be falling more in love with ourselves, appreciating the intimacy and connection we now have with our true identities after years of spilling rum on our parent's floors when we hear them come upstairs, or spending two hours to see a boy for five minutes that sends us a mere "yo". HOW DARE HE? 

We begin to shrink, to hide ourselves-in photographs behind friends, in bathrobes, slouchy pajamas and over-sized t-shirts. We simply tuck away our sensual feelings and try on shame for size. Frankly, I'm tired of seeing sexy, strong, smart women selling themselves short and leaving their dancing shoes to disintegrate in their closets.

Zumba saves us. Zumba reminds us that it's okay to be sexy in your 30's, sensual in your 60's! Trust me, there's some prime-timers in class that sing louder about that "big booty" than I'm currently able. It's beautiful. It's inspiring. It's empowering. I love to see women shed anxiety and put on confidence. Honestly, I love to see women of all ages, shapes, backgrounds, dance abilities shaking DAT BUTT, and NOT like nobody is watching, but like the entire world is watching.

In Zumba, you are a prowess, a woman rediscovering your sexuality without guilt. In Zumba, you remember, or discover for the first time, that your hips are built for more than propping up toddlers, but for shakin' babe! It's not uncommon for women to feel like they simply shouldn't be sensual, that we just aren't "built to be that way", so we should sit down and calm down.

Ladies-WRONG. Step into a Zumba class with me and be amazed at the energy in the room. Stick with this weird lady for a minute more, but with each twerk, shake, or body roll-we break free of this standard a little more. We assure the world that no, we are not designed to stay in a glass case; we were made to move, to sing, to shout, to jump, to free our bodies of every stigma and every expectation. 

In Zumba, you are ageless.
In Zumba, you are no one's mother or wife. 
In Zumba, there is no one to tell you to quiet down, to stop acting so silly. 
In Zumba, we are just a tribe of women, dancing, shaking dat butt, and bringing sexy back. 

Chicago Marathon Re-Cap

Coming into 2016, I wasn't planning on doing a full marathon. I keep meaning to take a year just to dedicate to speed and half marathon distance at most-now my 2017 plan. So all of you runners out there better not come and try to peer pressure me into running a full with you this coming year because I have plans,  people! 

But-when two of my sweet running friends mentioned entering into the Chicago Marathon lottery, I said-well, what they heck? I only had a 50% chance of getting in anyway, so highly doubted I would even be chosen. After finding out we all three made it into the lottery system, training kicked in full swing. I began training on my family beach vacation, completely high from the idea of running with my friends in such an amazing place. 

For whatever reason, training for this marathon was much different than all my others. Perhaps part of it was that I am pushing myself more than ever pace wise and so that comes with totally new obstacles on top of the already long distance. All previous marathon training has been laid back and easy. This was marathon #8 for me, so I went in feeling like some sort of pro (certainly not, obviously) but as time went on, the training got tougher. To start, I had that random foot problem for a few weeks that I was afraid would put me out of the race. Foam rolling, icing, compressing, elevating, stretching, cross training, etc. all got me through that issue-though the tenderness came back mid race this weekend and then mysteriously went back to hell where it came from afterwards (hooray).

I know that this season of life is by far the busiest season I have ever had. I'm not whining because I actively choose to do everything that I do and I LOVE all the things I am privileged to participate in-but hell, training for a full marathon amidst my already insane life was pretty rough. I was often overly drained and under-rested for my training runs and by the end of training I think my immune system was shot to hell. Granted, my longest training run (22 miler) felt amazing. That was a nice confidence boost and the average pace was right on target. 

To the important stuff:

Chicago is a beautiful city-there's no doubt about it, but I can tell you that I don't truly appreciate city living. I could live forever without visiting all the big cities, pushing through disgruntled people, waiting in all the lines and feeling like a fish out of freaking water. If it weren't for the company, I would have been extremely home sick. Side note-the expo is freaking great, so there's that. 

The crowd support IS as huge as people say it is-you literally feel like you're at the finish line the entire race because there are over 1 million spectators (literally) on the sidelines throughout the entirety of the race. There are 40,000 plus runners, which also means 40,000 plus paper water cups every mile or so for you to nearly trip over. There was also a banana station-just picture a cartoon Britney trying not to slip on a thousand banana peels mid marathon. Yeah. 

Through Mile 15 I felt pretty incredible and already had a PR in the bag, but after that my body was screaming at me that it was tired-so, so tired. My body had felt worn down like it was coming down with something a day or two before the race, but I had come too far to back down, so I took vitamin C and chugged through, hoping that good sleep, carbs and hydrating would do the trick. Ha, false. Even though I was running my fastest time yet, my body was revolting. I became extremely disoriented, drank 5 plus bottles of water and still couldn't get enough to drink. I normally don't hydrate nearly that much-just ask anyone who runs with me. The weather was perfect, cool and breezy, yet my body was reacting like it was in the summer heat. Each time my partner and I would go through a tunnel, I felt like I could fall over, kind of like the most disturbing tunnel scene in Willy Wonka that you could imagine. 

I pushed as hard as possible to the finish despite the rebellion of my own body. I am not a quitter, it's just not a trait I have in me. I finish whatever I start and I dictate when enough is enough. I do not let my feelings dictate if I will reach my goals or not and despite my collected and cool personality, when it comes to running-I am extremely competitive, but mainly with myself. I have always enjoyed overcoming my own mental blocks and physical limits, and despite everything, Chicago was no different. Chicago's finish line was like a break-through, a birth. It was so painful, each step of the last 6 miles was a tearing, a crowning of my own stubbornness and strong will. I believe that runners are the strongest people, not because I am one or because I think we are above people who don't run or don't like to run. I believe it because I have experienced great pain off and on the road and those that share miles with me show more strength than anyone I know. I have seen the pain in a fellow runner's face on the course, barely able to walk, yet stumbling to each mile marker. I have ran through the most painful moments of my life. I have ran through divorce. I have ran through thinking my father was going to die. I have ran when I had nothing left. Runners take their pain and use it to their advantage. That is the strength of the runner. 

 Each marathon I run, I finish it, because even amidst the greatest pain, I look back on my life, everything that hurt me and continues to hurt me, and I refuse to let the pain win. I see the struggles, the adversity, the victories, the people who have loved me and also the people that just sucked and I realize I am stronger than all of it. I am stronger  than them. I let the words of a recent adversary echo in my head and I decided to rise above what was said to me. I decided to rise above the voice that degraded me as an individual, the voice that tried to knock me down as a parent to my boys, the voice that has ever made me feel out of place, any voice that tried to tell me you don't belong in this race. Wrong. I not only belong, I am meant to dominate. 

So I bit my lip, let fire fuel me once again and pushed through. 

After crossing the finish line and finding my partner, I felt my body break. My vision blurred, my legs gave out and I hovered over the nearest recycle bin (probably not the kind of recyclables they wanted). I became "that girl" that gets carried to the medic tent to suck on Gatorade, prop her feet up and gets asked in 500 different ways if she knows where she is. 

Don't worry, I think I just ran myself into the ground and I am totally fine. My body served it's purpose and landed me my fastest time yet, despite the hell it took to get it. I was extremely angry with my body at first for forcing me to lean on two strangers to make it to a medical cot, but days later I can look back and smile. I look back and I see one freaking badass chick who doesn't quit, even when her feet go numb, her hands tingle, her vision becomes impaired. When others might have pulled to the side, that girl pushed through-that girl only listens to the voice that matters, the voice that tells her keep going, you belong here. 

Chicago Marathon Re-Cap

Coming into 2016, I wasn't planning on doing a full marathon. I keep meaning to take a year just to dedicate to speed and half marathon distance at most-now my 2017 plan. So all of you runners out there better not come and try to peer pressure me into running a full with you this coming year because I have plans,  people! 

But-when two of my sweet running friends mentioned entering into the Chicago Marathon lottery, I said-well, what they heck? I only had a 50% chance of getting in anyway, so highly doubted I would even be chosen. After finding out we all three made it into the lottery system, training kicked in full swing. I began training on my family beach vacation, completely high from the idea of running with my friends in such an amazing place. 

For whatever reason, training for this marathon was much different than all my others. Perhaps part of it was that I am pushing myself more than ever pace wise and so that comes with totally new obstacles on top of the already long distance. All previous marathon training has been laid back and easy. This was marathon #8 for me, so I went in feeling like some sort of pro (certainly not, obviously) but as time went on, the training got tougher. To start, I had that random foot problem for a few weeks that I was afraid would put me out of the race. Foam rolling, icing, compressing, elevating, stretching, cross training, etc. all got me through that issue-though the tenderness came back mid race this weekend and then mysteriously went back to hell where it came from afterwards (hooray).

I know that this season of life is by far the busiest season I have ever had. I'm not whining because I actively choose to do everything that I do and I LOVE all the things I am privileged to participate in-but hell, training for a full marathon amidst my already insane life was pretty rough. I was often overly drained and under-rested for my training runs and by the end of training I think my immune system was shot to hell. Granted, my longest training run (22 miler) felt amazing. That was a nice confidence boost and the average pace was right on target. 

To the important stuff:

Chicago is a beautiful city-there's no doubt about it, but I can tell you that I don't truly appreciate city living. I could live forever without visiting all the big cities, pushing through disgruntled people, waiting in all the lines and feeling like a fish out of freaking water. If it weren't for the company, I would have been extremely home sick. Side note-the expo is freaking great, so there's that. 

The crowd support IS as huge as people say it is-you literally feel like you're at the finish line the entire race because there are over 1 million spectators (literally) on the sidelines throughout the entirety of the race. There are 40,000 plus runners, which also means 40,000 plus paper water cups every mile or so for you to nearly trip over. There was also a banana station-just picture a cartoon Britney trying not to slip on a thousand banana peels mid marathon. Yeah. 

Through Mile 15 I felt pretty incredible and already had a PR in the bag, but after that my body was screaming at me that it was tired-so, so tired. My body had felt worn down like it was coming down with something a day or two before the race, but I had come too far to back down, so I took vitamin C and chugged through, hoping that good sleep, carbs and hydrating would do the trick. Ha, false. Even though I was running my fastest time yet, my body was revolting. I became extremely disoriented, drank 5 plus bottles of water and still couldn't get enough to drink. I normally don't hydrate nearly that much-just ask anyone who runs with me. The weather was perfect, cool and breezy, yet my body was reacting like it was in the summer heat. Each time my partner and I would go through a tunnel, I felt like I could fall over, kind of like the most disturbing tunnel scene in Willy Wonka that you could imagine. 

I pushed as hard as possible to the finish despite the rebellion of my own body. I am not a quitter, it's just not a trait I have in me. I finish whatever I start and I dictate when enough is enough. I do not let my feelings dictate if I will reach my goals or not and despite my collected and cool personality, when it comes to running-I am extremely competitive, but mainly with myself. I have always enjoyed overcoming my own mental blocks and physical limits, and despite everything, Chicago was no different. Chicago's finish line was like a break-through, a birth. It was so painful, each step of the last 6 miles was a tearing, a crowning of my own stubbornness and strong will. I believe that runners are the strongest people, not because I am one or because I think we are above people who don't run or don't like to run. I believe it because I have experienced great pain off and on the road and those that share miles with me show more strength than anyone I know. I have seen the pain in a fellow runner's face on the course, barely able to walk, yet stumbling to each mile marker. I have ran through the most painful moments of my life. I have ran after leaving a man I thought loved me. I have ran through thinking my father was going to die. I have ran when I had nothing left. Runners take their pain and use it to their advantage. That is the strength of the runner. 

 Each marathon I run, I finish it, because even amidst the greatest pain, I look back on my life, everything that hurt me and continues to hurt me, and I refuse to let the pain win. I see the struggles, the adversity, the victories, the people who have loved me and also the people that just sucked and I realize I am stronger than all of it. I am stronger  than them. I let the words of a recent adversary echo in my head and I decided to rise above what was said to me. I decided to rise above the voice that degraded me as an individual, the voice that tried to knock me down as a parent to my boys, the voice that has ever made me feel out of place, any voice that tried to tell me you don't belong in this race. Wrong. I not only belong, I am meant to dominate. 

So I bit my lip, let fire fuel me once again and pushed through. 

After crossing the finish line and finding my partner, I felt my body break. My vision blurred, my legs gave out and I hovered over the nearest recycle bin (probably not the kind of recyclables they wanted). I became "that girl" that gets carried to the medic tent to suck on Gatorade, prop her feet up and gets asked in 500 different ways if she knows where she is. 

Don't worry, I think I just ran myself into the ground and I am totally fine. My body served it's purpose and landed me my fastest time yet, despite the hell it took to get it. I was extremely angry with my body at first for forcing me to lean on two strangers to make it to a medical cot, but days later I can look back and smile. I look back and I see one freaking badass chick who doesn't quit, even when her feet go numb, her hands tingle, her vision becomes impaired. When others might have pulled to the side, that girl pushed through-that girl only listens to the voice that matters, the voice that tells her keep going, you belong here. 

Skinny Jeans Won't Make You Happy

You turn side to side in your bathroom mirror, sucking in and pulling on the loose skin that hugs on your hips.
Sigh. If I just _______, I'd be happy!

Dear Sweet Friends,
Nothing you change about your body is going to bring you happiness or make your life better. 
I know it's hard to believe that when you see the fitness ads and all the women are thin, have six pack abs and are jumping for joy over their awesome life and their awesome body and are just oozing with awesomeness! But please hear me out- I have been my unhappiest at my lowest weight. I fit into the pants that I wanted, could wear a bikini with pride, was the friend that constantly got doted on for being the "thin one," but deep down things were amiss. My soul was sad, my mind was tired, my body working hard to fit into a container completely unnatural.

Things in my life were chaotic and somehow I thought that if I controlled food, controlled my pants size and fit into the skinny jeans, that my life would come together and I would find happiness. 

Wrong, loves. So, so wrong. It wasn't my pants size I needed to change, it was my circumstances. Whatever your desire is to keep shrinking yourself, step back and re-evaluate why you're doing it, who you're really doing it for and determine if somehow deep down, you're trying to fill a void, mask a heart issue, escape from reality, cover your secret stresses, etc.

Shrinking your waist will never shrink your problems-they will still be there when you're skinny. People won't like you more, he won't love you any differently, she won't be more jealous, your life won't change when the scale changes. Your life will change when you get up and change it yourself.

I'm sorry to tell you that buttoning those pants may give you a temporary high/ satisfaction, but it will not bring you true happiness. Perhaps it's time to look at your heart, your life and find where the unhappiness is stemming from in the first place.

Maybe it's time to lose things that are weighing you down aside from inches-things that will actually make your life lighter and better. 

I have been there, sweet friend. You must step away and re-evaluate your motives. Is being healthy and active a positive? OF COURSE! But-it shouldn't rule your life. Exercise, eat good food, go out with friends, drink wine with your husband, belly laugh, swim with your kids, wear dresses and throw your scale to the curb.

How much do I weigh?

Honestly? I have no idea right now. There is no scale in my home. The scale is a reminder of a dark place that I once found myself years ago-a time that I looked to whatever number it decided to spit at me that day to determine my mood, my happiness, my drive. What a sad, lonely place that was! I never want to return there again and I will spend time investing into other women, writing, screaming from the rooftops to others as long as it takes so that they never visit that place, much worse-begin to reside there.

You have to find happiness for yourself, sweet girl. Maybe it's in a new hobby, new friends, or an entirely new life. Maybe it's on the square in your favorite coffee shop once a week, or a new career, a volunteer position to fill your hours.

Living a whole, fulfilling life is happiness. I have drinks with my girlfriends, eat salads but also can devour pizza. I wake up early, drink morning coffee, eat whole foods, laugh at my husband's jokes across the dining room table, kiss my kid's goodnight, read bedtime stories, give piggy back rides, sometimes eat asparagus and sometimes jars of peanut butter. I am happy and lack nothing. I do not deprive myself of life's pleasures-including gelato! (delicioso!)

I don't know who this post was for today; I typically don't post twice in a week. But-for whoever you are, I made the exception.  I felt like someone needed to be reminded of her priorities and needed to step back and spend time in meditation about what she wants her life to look like OUTSIDE of her skinny jeans.

So, whoever you are dear-grab a glass of wine, get in that bubble bath, love your body and find your own happiness...wherever that may be.

"Kissing Shame Goodbye"

I grew up in the 90's and though didn't reach my teenage years until early 2000's, I was raised in the prime stomping ground era of the "Kissing Dating Goodbye"/purity ring craze. I cringe when I tell people, but I was even on an "Abstinence Only" church team that went to the nearby public schools and put on skits.

You know the ones. The crying girl ripping petals from a wilted rose. The pubescent and pimply faced kids lined up in white t-shirts (not sexually active) against the black t-shirts (sexually active).
I am embarrassed and mortified looking back on it, honestly. To think I possibly played a part in a young female (or even male) believing she or he was damaged because of a sexual act that might not even have been their choice makes me ill.

It's a hard balance when you're a Christian and do believe that sex is best when kept in the marriage bed. I firmly believe that the most blessing comes in these circumstances, but I also have become more aware of the world, the culture, the statistics concerning abstinence only teaching/programs and the harm they have caused on those I know and the continuing generation.
Before I go further-know that I believe in aiming to teach our children to be smart, to be ready and to be educated in the aftermath that sex can bring when had with the wrong person and before they are mentally/physically/emotionally ready. It can bring brokenness, so much brokenness to both parties. Yet, to educate about sex we must really educate, not close the blinds and turn our eyes away, slapping purity rings on our children or ourselves.

The abstinence only reign that began in the early 90's was brought on by Joshua Harris (just a child himself at the time), author of "Kissing Dating Goodbye", a popular book that encouraged evangelical Christians to only date with the intent to marry the person, pledging abstinence and insinuating that those who had sex outside the realms of marriage were tainted. This is where my embarrassing white t-shirt days came in. Fathers were watching their daughters sign "no dating/sex covenants" and teens were sporting their purity rings. Unfortunately, the abstinence only program only brought one message and never educated this generation on anything but "don't have sex." Not only did this lead to complete ignorance in regards to sex, a huge gap in our sex education throughout schools and the home, but confused and guilt-ridden adults. Many either fit into one of two categories:

1. Those who didn't save themselves for marriage, often ridden with guilt and shame for decades even after marriage. (You can now find testimonials online of those hurt by Harris' book.)

2. Those who did save themselves for marriage, often leading to broken marriages and unsatisfaction in the bedroom because they too are ridden with shame because the idea that sex is dirty/forbidden is so ingrained in them that they can't bare to have a healthy sex life with their spouse.

Many marriages also struggled because this movement encouraged young people to not "date around", throwing out the idea that if you dated someone, they should be the person you married. This led to many young people marrying the very first person they really dated (me included), only leading to heartache down the road when they realize they were only children when they married one another, but because they "saved themselves" for one another-everything would be triply blessed and wonderful.

Also, as someone who was raised in the evangelical church and never experienced sex education, I was led to believe that any sexual encounter was like the white t-shirted teenager plucking a petal from my rose, that even my rape was something to be ashamed of, something that broke me and I deserved guilt and someone else who was broken/tainted. This led to years of hiding sexual assault from friends and family, leading to depression and anxiety. I felt that the only thing as a woman I had to offer my future spouse was my virginity, that my body was the ultimate gift.

I am obviously an advocate that your body is your own and have spent years rebuilding myself after burning "Kissing Dating Goodbye" and taking courses to educate myself as much as possible on human sexuality and the dangers of not teaching abstinence (I don't think this is bad, per-say),  but teaching ONLY abstinence, refusing to give our young people the information and tools to be as safe and healthy as possible in all realms of life.

It is also ironic to note that Harris is now re-evaluating many of the claims he made in his purity-themed books now that he has quit his high paying job and started to continue his education! He is now a father of teenagers and asking people affected by his books to reach out so that he might discuss/sort-of (emphasis on sort-of) apologize for the massacre that ensued after their publishing.

This is not a blog that is telling you to tell your kids to go off and have sex. This is a cry to my generation that was raised in the abstinence-only era, but now has access to so many resources to educate our own children, to re-evaluate how sex was presented to you and how you really want to present it to this generation. I don't want this generation to be as clueless as ours was and afraid to ask questions (especially of their parents). I want this generation to have open communication about their bodies, not to hide in shame. I want this generation to speak up about sexual assault/abuse. I want this generation to realize that they have more to offer than their bodies-now that is a message that can change the world of so many young people. 

Happy Father's Day, Love.

To my Lover on Father's Day-

I'm starting this letter nearly a week early because today was a hard day and I think God is okay with us receiving gifts when we need them, even if it's not on man's earthly schedule. 

Today the Enemy came rushing in and tried to instill fear, doubt and hate into our little family. He wanted us to lash out with tongues of fire and venom, drawing swords of hate to match our attacker. 

That would have given him exactly what he wanted-to see a Godly father lose at what matters most; showing his boys how to react when war rages. Yet, you react in the way that makes me fall in love with you over and over again-with grace upon grace. 

This, my love, is why you deserve to know what a great daddy you are to three precious, wild, beautiful and impressionable boys. You understand the magnitude of every action and decision on their tiny hearts because God has fathered you through the years and has handled your heart with extreme delicacy, understanding, desire and mercy. Because Christ so loved you, you are daily striving to be the best daddy that you can be to the boys-raising them with directness, but above all mercy. 

You consistently step outside of your own wants, needs, desires, dreams and agenda and claim not your own will, but God's for your boys. You handle every decision with care. You weigh every choice and outcome with diligence and prayer. You never throw the boys into the midst of an oncoming wave to save yourself, but rather you constantly sacrifice yourself to protect them, cherish them, shield them from the ugliness of the world around them. 

That's what we all want, right? We want to shield our children from the cold world for just a little while, not forever, but ...a little while? Long enough for fearless tuck-ins, park dates, picnics and innocent car conversations. 

That's what we do as parents. We hold the hand of our spouse and form a barricade around our most precious and prized possessions, protecting them from earthquakes and oncoming disasters at all costs, even if we are taken over in the process. 

Three years ago you invited me to stand alongside you to form the strongest barricade the boys will ever see. I didn't just say 'yes' to you as a husband, a partner, a best friend, but above all I said 'yes' to a father-and a hell of a good one. I said 'yes' to ball games, practices, fevers, sniffles, checking homework, home runs, dirty socks, getting splashed at the pool and boy jokes. I also said 'yes' to wage war against any power, person or principle that would try to seep into our boys' hearts, our family's home or our marriage. I vowed to fight for three souls, three minds, three hearts, harder and more intensely than I had ever fought for my own. 

So here we are, holding hands, forming a wall and fighting. 

There's a reason why armies once marched side by side-weapons up and horses high.

They were protecting often an unseen treasure, forming a fortress around the one they were to ultimately fight for and die for. They went to the front lines to protect the life that was of utmost importance. 

This is what we do, love. This is a father's love. God demonstrated the ultimate love of a father for us, the love of a mother for us. He knew we couldn't handle the huge mess, the huge battle ahead-so He went through the gates of Hell to grab the keys FOR us. He sees the ugliness and He weeps, but He is maternal and soothes us, all the while waging war for us, carrying mountains for us, destroying burdens for us. 

This is a father's love. 

This is you. 

You are the front lines for those boys. 

You are the shield.

You are the soother.

You are the wager of war in prayer. 

You are the reader of bedtime stories, the best bed tucker, peanut butter and jelly maker, kite flyer.

But-don't forget, my sweet boy, there is a Father also out fighting for you, too. He is also out carrying your mountains, destroying your burdens, on the front lines, shielding, soothing, waging war and reminding you that you need not fight battles that aren't yours. He already possesses them, along with your family, your home, Caler, Corban and Cannon. 

How amazing and cool is that? He is holding you and you are holding them-talk about a mighty fortress around our boys! 

I love you for so many reasons, for being an amazing partner, but I love you most when I watch you being a daddy. 

Grace upon Grace.

-B