I am a Christian. Saved by a Lord who walked this earth and died for me and I don't deserve it. But I want to be good enough for Him. I was not raised in a church and my faith is a struggle and a choice every. single. day. Sometimes that pisses me off. It's cool, I'm forgiven. And I'm so grateful.
I have four daughters. Three walk with me, one walks with Jesus. That also pisses me off but it's okay. It is how it is and this rebel can't change it. I love each one like crazy and am so amazed by who they are and that they were trusted to me.
I'm married to Luke, father of the daughters. The farmer, the faithful one, the strong hands. He carries me. He saved me. Like, literally SAVED me. He pushed me to God when I didn't want him and took a wild girl and made her a wife. He's amazing. We have been together ten years, married nine.
I'm a Lutheran. I baptise my babies, you should too. Get over it.
My husband is a farmer. We're pro-GMO, not organic, although I guess I'm semi-crunchy in some ways. I'm also not politically correct. That used to make me insecure and I'd pretend to be to please people. I'm over that. We grow your food so that you don't starve. GMO's aren't chemicals they're genetics swapped between plants using science given by an awesome God. You can disagree if you want to, we're all entitled to an opinion just please don't push yours on me.
I'm a cook, and an artist though I use a lens instead of a brush more often these days. I'm impulsive, and passionate. I have a temper. I'm a work in progress.
For a long time I was Marie's mother, and that was what I did. I took care of her. There was nothing else to me than that. To be honest, I was too tapped out to be more. I had no outside interests. Her world and keeping it as good as I could was what all my effort went toward. In 2 1/2 short years it was over. The best days, over. But I still have good days. Most of them actually. Embracing joy because otherwise what's the frickin' point? There's a million people out there talking about what it is to love a terminally ill child, to parent them. But not many talk about what it's like when that child is gone. And that's where I am. That's my reality every day. And I went through a period where I was ashamed of it, or hated that it defined me, or something. I could almost hear whispers "Oh that's Shannon, her baby died". Or meeting new people and the dreaded "how many children do you have". And me with my steely eyes and my rebel heart defiantly saying "four" when I obviously only have three at the time and they must wonder "what?". But I will not discount her or discredit her or stop talking about her and family and friends can just deal with that, even if it makes them uncomfortable. Because life is. Its' really uncomfortable. We just do the best we can.
And this is me. And this is a new beginning, on an old blog. And I'm going to be more honest. If I want to talk about fashion, or potty training, or rum recipes that's cool. And it doesn't make me less a person than I used to be when I was taking care of Rie and dealing with more serious stuff (I felt that for a long time, that I'm more shallow now or something). It is the time passing, and life changing, and it's okay.