In February of 2008 I was diagnosed with an incurable terminal lung illness, though God promised me a full and complete healing. While we wait for His timing, we're taking it one day at a time, and standing in awe of how God's using all of this for His glory. The tough road we've traveled has given us a new perspective on the fragility of life. Memories are more important to us than ever before. The goal of this blog is to share some of our family life - the ups and downs, the joys and probably some of the pains as well. It's mostly meant as a personal journal of sorts, but you're welcome to share in it. We'd like to take this opportunity to say ...
WELCOME TO THE FEITNER ADVENTURE!
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Our last family photo was at Easter. But last weekend a cousin helped inspire me to take another one. And then her sister took it for us. Harrison was fussy, Alex was grouchy (he hates getting his photo taken). But it turned out okay anyway. Thank you, ladies!
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
a raspberry bush!!!!!
Of course I won't know for sure until those buds burst forth. But, isn't that what it looks like to you??? I'm not sure what to make of this. Either I subconsciously knew that's what it was, or, God has a sense of humor, or SOMETHING!
So, we have two perfect little raspberry plants free for the taking if anyone's interested! I'm gonna need to spend some time tomorrow researching how to trim wild-looking raspberry bushes. I'd like to tame it so it looks less like a psychotic weed with thorns, and more like a lovely plant that produces yummies for us to eat.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Aaron's said that working on this project over the weekend has motivated him to paint more of the house. (yippee!!!) It's amazing what a little money and a whole lot of grunt work can do to transform a room!
As a child of ten, I sit in the living room of my almost quiet house. I hear only the sounds of my red crayon as I color Mickey Mouse in my new Disney Coloring Book and the clock ticking on the wall. The echoing ring of a telephone shatters the near silence. As my mother answers the phone, I instinctively know that something is wrong. Reluctant, yet self-assured, I quietly go into the kitchen and begin to slip on my shoes. The thought crosses my mind, I’m not sure what’s happening, but I know this is going to be a long night.
Grief, however, is NOT instantaneous. It's more like this ...