Suffering, Featured, Family, Faith
Courtney Reissig
Sin is Like Cancer

One of the scariest things in the early days of my diagnosis is that the pathology was unclear. Best case scenario, the cancer was contained. Worst case scenario, it had spread beyond what they could imagine. This fear was heightened by the fact that all the normal tests that catch cervical cancer failed to detect mine. I was diagnosed long after they usually diagnose women. And that terrified every medical professional I saw.

Sin is Like Cancer

Motherhood

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The Olympics and Celebrating Strong Women

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The Olympics and Celebrating Strong Women

Like many of you, I’ve spent the better part of the last week glued to my television and losing way too much sleep over the Olympics. I love the Olympics. I love watching sports I don’t get to see regularly. I love learning about new athletes. I love the dedication and talent that permeates the games. I love the human interest stories that tell us more about the athletes. I love it all.

This Olympics, the American team is majority female, which means we have the highest percentage of female athletes of any competing country. There is no denying women have come very far in sports. What I love about the coverage of the athletes (male and female) is how we learn not only about their sport, but their life.

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Will You Subscribe to My Blog?

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Will You Subscribe to My Blog?

It's summer. Summer is for slower schedules and later bedtimes. Summer is for days at the pool and nights eating ice cream. Summer is also for spending more time relaxing and enjoying life. So if you don't want to visit the internet every day wondering if I've posted (which is so scattered these days), I have good news! You can now subscribe to my blog through the handy, dandy "subscribe" button on the right side of my blog. I'm all for efficiency and time-saving devices, and my hope is that this new button will do just that for you, my readers. Instead of having to visit my website, wondering when I will post (hopefully I will post more!), you can have my posts delivered to your inbox by 2 PM the day I post them. So there you go, subscribe away, friends!

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One Big Lesson in Letting Go

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One Big Lesson in Letting Go

If I could figure out a way for babies and kids to stop growing just for a minute, I would. But alas, they just keep following time and those growth spurts that make them so sleepy and so very hungry. 

I mentioned on Friday that it was a bittersweet process for me to wean Seth. In some ways, I felt completely ready—in others, not at all. I’ve always been fairly sentimental and resistant to change (my first memory of this growing sentimentality was when I cried on the last day of 5th grade because I knew I would miss everyone that summer). I don’t like when people move. I don’t like when good things end. I like everything to stay the same. I’m not much of a crier, but change is something I cry about.

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Weaning My Baby and the Image of God

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Weaning My Baby and the Image of God

The summer between my 7th and 8th grade years our golden retriever had puppies. On the last day of school we woke up to eight black lab/golden retriever mix puppies, making that summer one of the most memorable I’ve ever had. We watched Montana go from playful family dog to protective mother literally overnight. She birthed those puppies on her own in her doghouse. She nursed those babies whenever they were hungry. She snapped at my youngest brother when he tried to touch one of them. She never left them in those early days. 

And then she weaned them. 

I’m not exactly sure how the weaning process goes for dogs, but as quickly as she went from jovial family dog to protective momma dog, she went right back to her former life without batting an eye. We gave away most of the puppies, but kept one for my brother (he loved dogs), and her relationship with that dog was filled with contention. He bothered her. He had more energy than her. In many ways the way she acted around him was like any other dog that invaded her personal space. Sure, she birthed him and nursed him. But once that process was over she forgot it even happened. She forgot he was her son.

Not so with humans, right?

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Make Me a Servant

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Make Me a Servant

I have a couple of friends who often are the first to step in to serve someone in need. When we’ve had a long stretch of Daniel traveling, one friend has offered to babysit for us so we can reconnect after time apart. When I mention needing something organized in my house, one friend will come up with an idea that meets our needs and then come help finish the project. When one of the pastor’s wives needs help tearing down from an event, one friend is always the first to start cleaning up. 

I’ll be honest. These things do not come naturally to me.

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When Mother's Day Was Silent

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When Mother's Day Was Silent

This is Sunday will be my fourth Mother’s Day with full arms. Each year my arms feel more full than the last, and this year is no different. But not every Mother’s Day has been this way for me. While this might be my fourth happy Mother’s Day, it is actually my sixth Mother’s Day. I remember that one so clearly. We had just passed the due date for our first baby. Daniel quietly celebrated me for the life I carried briefly, though my womb and arms remained achingly empty. I remember every quiet Mother’s Day after that, when I wondered if God would ever answer the cry of my heart for children this side of heaven. I remember the Mother’s Day after our second miscarriage, when my arms were full with the twins, yet I still longed for the baby I would never hold in this life. 

Mother’s Day can be bittersweet for so many of us.

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How to Love a NICU Baby (and His Momma)

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How to Love a NICU Baby (and His Momma)

Premature babies don’t cry. At least mine didn’t. They make a labored grunting sound that seems sweet at first, but then you learn that it’s because they are gasping for air to fill their under-developed lungs. And that is anything but sweet.  I’ve never forgotten that silent operating room where I welcomed my twin boys into the world eight weeks early. In the fast-moving moments of their early and unexpected arrival, I held my breath in fear over the unknown path that lay before me. Premature babies don’t cry, but their mothers make up for it.