Category: Totally Tatum

What the struggle forms in us

My daughter once learned about a butterfly fighting its way out of a chrysalis. Like any tender-hearted child, she wanted to help it break free. She saw the struggle and wanted to make it stop. She wanted to open the way, free the butterfly, and rescue it from what looked like unnecessary difficulty. But the teacher explained that the struggle was not a mistake in the process. It was part of the process.

The butterfly needed to press and push and fight its way out because that very struggle was helping its wings develop. To release it too soon would not save it. It would weaken it. Isn’t that what we want to do with struggle?

We want to get out of it as quickly as possible. We want someone to fix it, explain it, remove it, or rescue us from it. 

Yes, sometimes, help is good and necessary. I am not talking about pretending pain does not hurt or refusing the support we need. But I am learning that not every struggle is proof that something has gone wrong. Sometimes the struggle is the place where strength is being formed.

The same is true for a tree. 

Wind may look like the enemy, but wind teaches the tree to root deeper. A tree that never faces resistance does not become stronger. It becomes fragile. But a tree with deep roots can withstand storms that would have once taken it down.

Maybe we are more like that than we want to admit. We were not designed to live unmoved by resistance. We were designed to grow through it.

Now, I don’t want to romanticize suffering like it’s something we should embrace and celebrate. Especially health struggles. I would not wish health struggles on anyone. Chronic illness can steal time, energy, confidence, plans, and pieces of the life you thought you would be living. It can feel less like a meaningful lesson and more like being grounded from your own life.

Many days, I don’t feel inspired by the struggle. Truly, I’m just exhausted and sad. 

But if I look back at pictures of myself from years ago, I see a girl who had no idea what it meant to suffer in this way. I do not judge her for that. I love her. She was doing the best she knew how to do. But I also see something now that was not there then.

I see deeper roots.

I see more compassion. More dependence on God. I see more of a heart for people who are carrying pain. I also see more gratitude for ordinary moments and awareness that strength is not always loud and fancy. No, usually strength is simply staying tender when life gives you every reason to become hardened. That is part of the struggle too. 

But here’s the thing that I have realized: The thing that feels like it is breaking us may also be the place where God is making us.

Struggle, whatever it looks like for you, will never fully disappear on this side of heaven.

The wind keeps coming. The roots keep growing. The chrysalis gives way, but only after the fight. Becoming is not instant, and growth is rarely painless.

The question is not whether we will struggle.

We will.

Jesus told us plainly, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).

So maybe the better question is this: What will the struggle form in us?

Will it make us bitter or brave? Hardened or tender? Fearful or rooted? Childlike in our dependence on God, or childish in our refusal to grow?

I am not saying everything that is hard is good. I do not believe God delights in our suffering. But I do believe God can use what He allows, and that with Him, even the hardest things can form something holy in us.

I believe God can bring good from every hard thing.

That, my friend, is my hope. It has to be.

The wind does not get the final word.
The cocoon is not the end of the story.
The struggle is not always where life is being taken from us.

Sometimes, somehow, by the grace of God, it is where the wings are being made.

My girl got a haircut yesterday.

And honestly, she looked so grown up. She wouldn’t let me take a front view. Sad face…but

Zero, Brandy’s pup, got to hang out on her lap at the salon, because apparently even the dog knows where the safest, sweetest place is.

Then we got home, and Tot wanted to PLAY.

Not scroll. Not disappear. Not be too old for it…..Play!

We started going through all of her old bins and found the cars and the little toys and all the things that used to fill our days. She had a blast pulling everything out, remembering pieces of who she was, and letting herself be imaginative and silly and free.

I love this side of her.

The playful side.
The creative side.
The side that reminds me she is still a kid, even as she is growing up right in front of me.

It felt like a tiny gift from God, like He is letting you revisit a room you thought had already closed. For a little while, I got to see my little girl again. Not because she went backward, but because childhood still lives in her. And I am so grateful.

Today….CHURCH! Some Sundays feel daunting…just the thought of missing. But today. We all went! That was enough.

Tot and I sent selfies back and forth later, because that’s just what we do. She told me I was gorgeous.

Then she said, “I take after you.”

Melt me into a puddle.

She probably has no idea how much that meant to me. Not because of the compliment, but because of the connection. I felt the sweetness between us.

And then there’s Coopy.

He is absolutely glued to the set, watching TV like he is waiting for his big scene. Toy on the floor, eyes locked in, fully invested. I don’t know what he thinks is happening up there, but he is committed.

It was just another weekend.

Dad doing the beautification of our home and fixing things that need it. He is so helpful and selfless.

God is here.

And I am grateful.

Father’s Day. A day to celebrate DAD! Cards of love; sunflowers in the kitchen. A new shirt. Tatum’s quiet way to honor him.

There is Doug….Our steadfast one.

The one who works hard, protects us, covers us, keeps showing up, and somehow holds this family together when life feels like it keeps throwing one more thing our way.

We love him for all he does for us, but even more, we love who he is to us. He is the safe place. The one who makes sure we are protected and provided for. The one who watches over his little flock.

Honestly, he reminds me of the daddy quail outside our house.

We have these quail families that come around all the time, and I am obsessed with watching them. The mama and daddy stay close to their babies, guarding them, guiding them, keeping watch. There is something so beautiful about it. So simple. So faithful. Just like Doug. He is standing guard over his girls, his home, his people.

Because love is not just the big, romantic moments. It is not just the pretty pictures or the perfect holidays. Sometimes love looks like sitting in a doctor’s office. Sometimes it looks like driving your wife to Mayo. Sometimes it looks like holding the family steady when the plan changes again.

On Monday, Mommy had to go get tested at Mayo.

Yes, a nuclear medicine test and eating a radioactive egg sandwich so they can track your digestion for 48 hours.

Yes. A nuclear egg sandwich.

I had my little paper with all the return times, my instructions, and my strange hospital breakfast/lunch situation. Coopy patiently waiting for me.

This is what we do: We keep going.

Tatie loved on Ollie with a cucumber. The bird cage was probably messy five minutes later.

Cooper waited for Dad to play with him, staring at his toys like the loyal little fluffball he is. He knows who his people are. He knows when Dad is home. And he knows exactly how to guilt someone into playtime.

Then, because apparently we needed one more adventure, the power went out.

So we camped in the living room.

No big plan. No perfect setup. Just gathered together in the dim light while Tatum read to us. No power. No distractions. Just us. Oh, and Coopy freaking out.

It was quite the few days.

Father’s Day.

Mayo.

A nuclear sandwich.

Cucumber bird love.

A dog waiting for playtime.

A power outage.

A living room campout.

And in the middle of it all, there were my sunflowers. They are the KISS from God to me. That’s what they represent. So I keep them always in my kitchen.

Yes, I have Faith in Him. Faith that God is still carrying us through the storms.

Faith that even when our days look nothing like we planned, He is still near.

We are tired. We are stretched. We are often unsure of what is next. But we are also loved. Covered. Protected. Held. Thank you Honey. Thank you Jesus. Love still wins.

Today in summer school, Tatum and I studied the story of Joseph.

Joseph was sold into slavery by his own brothers. Betrayed by the people who should have protected him. Taken from everything familiar. Sent into a life he never would have chosen.

And yet, little did his brothers know, Joseph would one day become governor of Egypt.

Little did they know that years later, when famine came, Joseph would be in the very position to save the same family that had hurt him.

Only God knew; only God saw the famine coming.

After we read and talked about Joseph, Tatum and I started talking about our own family.

And honestly, we have been through the fire.

My health has been hard. Really hard. There have been so many days when it has taken everything in me just to get out of bed, to keep going, to parent, to teach, to show up, to believe that there is still purpose in all of this.

Tatum has had her own struggles too. Her ADD. Her health. School challenges. The heartbreak of feeling like things are harder for her than they should be. The discouragement. The fear of starting over. The fear of a new school and wondering if she will be able to focus, keep up, and feel okay.

Our family has struggled. Not in a cute, inspirational, everything-tied-up-with-a-bow kind of way. We have struggled in the exhausting, discouraging, “God, how long?” kind of way.

But today, after studying Joseph, Tatum said, “Mommy this will be used for good.”

She said that if things had not happened the way they did, she would not be going to a new school. She would not be getting ready to make new friends. She would not have discovered the joy she has serving kids with special needs. She said I will have so much compassion and that I will help so many people. WOW.

Because sometimes when you are the mom, you think you are the one teaching the lesson. But then your child opens her mouth and reminds you of everything you are trying so hard to believe.

I saw hope coming out of her. And today was another little piece of hope too.

Tatum had her first appointment for neurofeedback and the metronome exercises. I was nervous. She was nervous. We have tried so many things. But she loved it!

She loved the doctor. She loved the process. Maybe this could give her more confidence. Maybe this could help her focus. Maybe this could make the transition into a new school feel less scary.

God is our Rock.

He has carried us this far, and He is going to get us through.

And maybe one day, like Joseph, we will look back and see that God was working even here.

I will continue to hold onto that. I have to.

We stopped by Tatum’s new school today … Great Hearts Veritas

, and they gave us the grand tour. And WOW. It is huge, indoors, fancy, classic, and just plain cool.

She will get to know students from 7th through 11th since their lockers are all together. Sixth grade and seniors have their own spaces, which she thought was pretty neat. She will become proficient in Latin, the arts, math, science… all the good and hard and stretching things.

And she is SO EXCITED.

So excited, in fact, that as soon as we got home she could not wait to go through all her school supplies. A ruler got her pumped up. Yep.

She even started reading The Hobbit  with Coopy nearby, of course.

Rio was also very interested and kept trying to get out and join the school-prep party.

After visiting Veritas, we got a cone. Because what else do you do after touring a new school and starting a new chapter?

Oh, and we are also starting needlepoint because apparently we are practicing new things before school starts. Lipsticks and sunflowers seemed like the perfect place to begin. STAY tuned on this!!

All in all, Coopy and I were exhausted from a very full, very fun day.

New school. New supplies. New books. New skills. Same sweet girl. More to come.

Summer is here, and some days we do it well. Some days we the schoolwork, the serving, the errands, the tiny bits of structure. And some days, mostly because of me, we just don’t. I’m learning to take the good with the bad and call it all part of the same story. I am learning to look through the day with rose colored glasses and enjoy the little things.

Today Tatum finished out VBS camp with Jordan.

She really does love working with kids who need extra care and understanding. There is something in her that comes alive in that space. And thankfully, she will be right back serving again on Sunday, doing what has become one of her very favorite things.

And then there is regular summer at home. We are working on Latin and summer school, little by little. Some days it feels productive. Some days it feels like we are dragging ourselves through conjugations and answer keys. But then I find “I love you!” written at the top of her paper, and suddenly even Latin feels like a love note. She is my girl. I just adore her.

The birds are happy too, and honestly, ridiculously cute. Bluebell and Rio are their pretty little selves, and Ollie is still Ollie …obsessed with two things: water and pooping. He took a bath today..of course getting water everywhere. But usually it’s not water. We call him Sir Poopsalot (hint hint)

Outside, our quail families are still gathering around the house. New little families show up, with mama and daddy quail staying close to their babies, always watching, always protecting, always moving together. I love them so much. There is something so sweet about seeing those tiny babies tucked between their parents, learning the world under watchful eyes.

That feels like summer right now. A little school. A little serving. A little tired. A little messy. Birds splashing. Quail babies wandering. A girl growing up right in front of me.

What the NFC Diagnosis Taught Me About Healing

I was lying in bed thinking about all the people who go to the doctor with mystery symptoms. 
“I’m super tired all the time.” Or “I get a stomachache after every meal.” Or “I look like I’m pregnant after I eat.” Or “I have these itchy dots all over my knees and elbows.” Pick your poison. We walk in with our lists of symptoms that are real enough to disrupt our lives, but vague enough to make you feel unsure how to explain them. You sit there hoping the doctor will look at you and say, “Yes, I know what this is. Here is what is going on, and here is what we are going to do.” Not because you want something to be wrong necessarily, but because you are exhausted trying to figure it out on your own. 

A diagnosis can feel like relief, even when it does not actually make you feel better.

Sometimes the doctor gives you a label. “Ah, yes, you have XYZ! Let’s get you on a course of this or that.” Sometimes they order the test. Sometimes they prescribe the reflux medication, the antibiotic, the hormone, the steroid, the antidepressant, or whatever seems to fit the symptoms in front of them. And sometimes, praise God, that is exactly what you need. You leave with the diagnosis, the prescription, and the tiny bit of comfort of having a name for what you feel.Then you go home.

And you still feel awful.

The meds give you side effects. The symptoms do not improve. Maybe something new starts happening, and you do not know if you are supposed to call, wait, stop the medication, keep taking it, or just deal with it until the next appointment. There is no easy way to text the doctor and say, “Hey, this is not working,” or “Actually, I feel worse,” or “Is this normal?” So you wait. You deal. You accept the label and try to move on with your life. But now you do not just have symptoms. You have symptoms, side effects, and a diagnosis that did not fix anything.

You get tired of living with a label that does not help you feel better.

Then you start over. Another doctor. Another perspective. Another specialist. Another test. Another idea. This new doctor thinks it might be mold. That one thinks autoimmune. Someone else says heavy metals, hormones, gut health, nervous system, thyroid, adrenal fatigue, histamine, cortisol, parasites, or whatever the current thing is. And listen, sometimes they are right. Sometimes the missing piece really does matter. Sometimes the right test, the right doctor, or the right medication changes everything. 

Too often, you end up with more information and the same body.

Dr. Google to the rescue. You type in one symptom, and suddenly you have six possible diseases, three patient forums, a supplement protocol, and a woman on a message board who sounds exactly like you. For a minute, it feels comforting because someone else gets it. Then it gets terrifying because now you have ten more things to worry about. Now it’s really complicated. But wait…

Now we have AI.

AI can be amazing. I am not going to pretend it has not helped me, because it has. It has helped connect some dots, ask better questions, and walk into appointments with a clearer sense of what I am trying to communicate. But AI can also become Google on steroids. It can give you every possible explanation because it has read the studies, the articles, the patient boards, the blogs, the protocols, and probably a few things written by people who should not be giving advice in the first place. And it gives it to you in a very organized form. You feel heard!

And when you have not felt heard for a long time, that can feel powerful. But more information is not always the same thing as healing.

I have spent plenty of time (what felt like a full-time job) asking, “What do I have?” I have chased labels. I have sat in doctor’s offices. I have had tests. I have tried medications. I have searched symptoms. I have asked AI more questions than I probably want to admit. And some of it helped. I am grateful for the parts that helped. But I also reached a point where I needed more because I wanted my life back. 

Conventional medicine gives you the label. Functional medicine gives you the root cause. Google gives you the deep rabbit hole, and AI gives you the supercharged rabbit hole. And all of them can help. Truly. But all of them can also leave you more confused than when you started. 

In my head, I call this the NFC diagnosis: No Freaking Clue.

When you feel like you’re getting the NFC diagnosis, it often still comes with a stack of labels. Labels can be helpful, but they can also create the impression that a mystery has been solved when it hasn’t. Yes, I know I’m dysregulated, dysbiotic, and discombobulated. But I had names for my symptoms long before I had answers. And there is a difference between having a label and having a path forward.

But the NFC moment is not the end of the road. Maybe it is the moment we take some agency back.

When nobody knows what is wrong, we can start to feel powerless. We wait for the next appointment, the next test, the next protocol, or the next person who might finally tell us what is happening. And sometimes we need all of that. But while we are waiting, the basics still matter. I am not saying, “I know better than every doctor.” More like, okay, nobody has a clear answer yet, so what can I do while I wait? What can I support? What can I stop doing that might be making my body work harder?

And I need to say this clearly: this is not about ignoring real illness.

Thank God for medicine. Thank God for scopes, scans, labs, antibiotics, inhalers, hormones, surgeries, specialists, and medications that save lives and change lives. Some things need medical treatment. Some things need urgent care. Some things are not solved by protein, sunlight, walking, prayer, or better sleep.

But for those of us living in the gray area, maybe the next question is not another wild theory. Maybe it is, “What kind of environment is my body living in every single day? Am I living in a way that supports healing, or am I asking my body to recover while I keep doing the same things that wore it down?”

So yes, don’t give up. In the meantime, eat real food. Get morning light. Walk. Build muscle. Sleep. Stop under-eating. Stop letting every symptom send you into a downward spiral. Connect with people. Pray. Breathe. Create rhythm. Give your body time. None of that sounds as impressive as a rare diagnosis or a complicated protocol. It does not sell as well. It can even feel disappointing when what you really wanted was one answer that explained everything.

I have to believe the body wants to heal when it can. Not always perfectly or in a linear fashion. Not always quickly. Not always without medicine. At the end of the day, it is our bodies, so we begin again with the basics we kept skipping over while we were searching for something more complicated.

Maybe the NFC diagnosis is not the moment we give up. Maybe it is the moment we stop waiting for someone else to give us hope. And while we wait, we do what we were called to do all along: steward the body God gave us.