It Coulda Been Worse

In the light

2012-02-17T07:50:00.002-08:00

Well, as you can see, I made it!

The surgery went so well. I have no words. My doctor said it was one of the easiest and fastest he has ever done- just under an hour start to finish. I know this is because The Great Physician was there, fully present.

I woke up from anesthesia in a bit of discomfort. I was nauseous and disoriented, but the nurse who was taking care of me had a beautiful St Mary necklace on. I took one look at that, closed my eyes, and let peace fill me.

Mark came to the room after I was settled. He was so relieved. So was I. I can't give any details of what that afternoon or night was like, because it is a bit hazy. But I walked 7 times around the ward before sleep. I got up at midnight and washed up, brushed my teeth, and put lotion on. Suffice it to say, I felt really well.

I went home on the 15th. I can tell you that my most unconfortable times were that afternoon and evening. The gas pains from the co2 they fill you with are AWFUL. Very, very uncomfortable. They settle up around your shoulders and neck and the only way to get rid of them is walking and time. Let me tell you, I am one to be very embarassed about getting rid of gas, but everytime I have the past few days I have cheered! :)

Yesterday my daughter had her 5 year old birthday bash. I was basically just a spectator, since we combined it with Lily's bestie Kayley's party. Her mommy did almost all of the work- I just showed up. But I can say I was on my feet nearly the whole two hours. And I felt fine. Tired, but fine.

I woke up this morning feeling nearly normal. Now normal is not the same- I haven't had anything but water, crystal light, and jello since Sunday. But I am able to vacuum, help with the kids, and empty the dishwasher.

And I am down 10 pounds.

And I owe all of it to my Savior. He put me on the path. He made the way before me with the doctors. He guided my surgeons hands. He gave me wonderful nurses. And He has continued to give me strength beyond what I could have on my own.

I am in the light now, with the tunnel firmly behind me. And it is beautiful.

Starting weight- 229

Weight today- 219

Tunnel

2012-02-12T07:53:00.000-08:00

I feel like I am on the edge. Standing, toes over the line, between darkness and light, looking into a long tunnel of suffocating unknowns.

I am standing on the edge of what terrifies me, a journey through something I cannot control with changes I cannot anticipate.

It's light on the other side of this tunnel. I know it, with a profound certainty that only comes from God.

But this darkness before has humbled me. It has forced me to confront just how much I need to control everything- how hard it is to surrender.

I am terrified of the surgery. Scared of others having control of my body, of hands opening wounds in my stomach and rearranging my insides. I'm scared of waking up in pain. I'm scared of being alone in the hospital.

I'm scared. And I don't get scared very often. I don't feel fear over much of anything. If I am anxious, I take control over the situation.

But I can't do that. I have to trust other people. I have to commit my body into the hands of what I have been told is a brilliant surgeon. I have to close my eyes and allow myself to sleep as I am being operated on.

And everytime I think about it, I can't breathe.

But I know, I know, God is in that darkness. That He exists even when I am asleep and cannot call out to Him. That even in the midst of my terror and uncertainty, He stands beside me.

After all, I am a believer. And we have been given words for these things-

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
(Philippians 4:6-7)

Cast your cares on the LORD and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous fall. (Psalm 55:22)

When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul. (Psalm 94:19)

Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.
(Psalm 139:23-24)

And I believe that God led me through this entire process, from beginning to the end. He went before me into this, allowed me favor with the doctors, the insurance, and the hospital.

And I have no doubt that He will be with me, guiding my surgeons hands, watching over me as this life changing procedure is done.

But my humanity cries out with fear. I am here, on the edge. At any time I can back away from this.

But if I do, I walk way from health. I walk away from something that can only help me to be better, freer from the things that take my focus from God. I am shackled right now, held deep under by this body that causes me shame and keeps me from living the life I want to.

This surgery frees me from chains I have wound around myself. It will be the greatest tool I will EVER have to be healthy and free.

So.

Tuesday morning, I will be terrified. I will be tearful and I will be anxious. I will stand at the mouth of this darkness trembling with fear.

But as I walk forward, His hand will touch mine. And He will lead me through to the light.

Samuel

2012-02-06T18:19:00.000-08:00

Dear Sam,

I am writing to apologize to you, my sweet baby boy.

You see, I was not prepared for you. Since you were 8 months old, you have been on the go- always moving, always active. You have been an intensely physical child from the very beginning- at all times you challenge yourself to do more, climb higher, reach further. You are determined and stubborn. You are all boy. And it is exhausting just watching you, let alone trying to keep up.

I wasn't prepared for a child who didn't want to talk. For a child that didn't want to sit and cuddle, or read books and play quietly. I looked at you- your boyish spirit, your need for action, your adventurous ways, and I thought "Oh no! How am I going to deal with this?"

And at times, I resented your lack of need for me. I ached for you to want me to hold you, or for you to look to me for comfort.

But you don't.

And I am realizing the beauty in all of that sweet boy. I am looking at you with new eyes- eyes that are opened to the wonder that you are. I am embracing you as a whole- your active ways, your expressive eyes, and your silence. I am waking up to what your world is like- so physical, so driven to move and to play that words get...lost or forgotten. Words lose meaning in the face of a line of monster trucks in the sun, or a swing swaying in the breeze.

I am loving your quiet and sturdy presence. You take everything in. You absorb it all. And your heart is so big. Despite being so focused on what you want, you have an amazing empathy for those who are sad or hurt.

Sometimes I just watch you as you watch your world. I see you sit in your own silence, your eyes and hands always moving, moving. Pushing cars, climbing furniture, stacking legos. I see you turn your eyes to your sister with such love. You wrap your arms around her and squeeze her tight. You call for her when she is at school.

I have a confession: for a long time I wondered if you were okay, if your silence spoke of something broken inside. If it was something I did...Is it me? Am I not nurturing you as you need?

But now I know differently. All of your lights are on buddy- glowing brighter everyday. You are funny, and kind, and remarkable. You are determined and loving and stubborn. You are smart and compassionate.

And you have shown me all of these pieces of yourself, without speaking. And that, in itself, is wondrous.

So here's to you, my sweet quiet one. I can't wait to see what else you have to teach me.

Still

2012-01-30T11:24:00.000-08:00

We all encounter silence in our lives. Stillness. Emptiness. Moments of soundless agony.

The second after angry words are hurled.

The quiet of sadness that breaks upon us in waves.

The moment we realize we are utterly alone.

The seconds before the hurt child utters a bone breaking wail.

The time when the child should cry, but is still. So still.

In these moments, He can be found. Close as skin, speaking to us in the silence of our pain. Holding us as we scream for mercy from providence, from circumstance.

From death. Unfair death.

He is there. He is faithful, and close to the brokenhearted. Even in our angry demands of "Why?", He sits with us.

When the moment of birth becomes filled with stillness, when the cry doesn't come, when the pain is a breaking of the soul and heart so terrible the angels cry...He is there. In the midst of it all.

And I believe His tears fall with ours. Our pain is His pain. And I also believe he is the mightiest of comforters, the strongest of pillars to lean on.

Somewhere under a wintry Nebraska sky, a baby was born. In silence.

I pray that He is close to those who this breaks upon. That He holds them like the ocean holds the sand. I pray they feel His closeness and His comfort while the stillness of the birth echoes in their world.

By the light of my IV bag...

2012-01-26T07:46:00.000-08:00

Hi.

Remember me?

I kinda deserted you for 3 weeks, eh? Sorry about that! But I promise I have lots to tell and some good stories!

The biggest of all? My baby turned 2. My precious little guy has been here for 2 years! It's amazing. He is bright and active and funny. He cracks us up with his babble and yelling into the phone. His face melts my heart. 2 years! It has gone SOOOOO fast! (and some days SOOOOO slow. Just being honest. Ahem)

And now we are looking down the pike at Lily's birthday, where she will turn 5. I seriously cannot think about it without tearing up. My sweet angel girl will be 5. Next year, she will go to kindergarten. It seems like yesterday I was holding her little apple sized head in my hand, tracing her ears, turned so pink and perfectly against her skin. And now, she is turning 5. Every single day with her has been a joy.

In other not so important news, I have done all of my appointments and doctor visits for my surgery, and I have a date- Valentine's Day!

Isn't it romantic?

I can just see Mark and I gazing into each others eyes by the light of the hospital fluorescent, or watching the sunset through grainy hospital glass windows. Maybe, if he is really lucky, he can hold my catheter bag while I walk the halls. I may even let him punch the button to give me more pain meds. Ain't he a lucky guy? I know, I spoil him.

I'm a little freaked out. I struggle with this daily- I LIKE myself. I would want to hang out with myself. Why am I doing something to change myself? I also struggle with the whole- "Big is beautiful" thing. It is beautiful, yes, but is it healthy? No.

I have started to think of it like this- I am already running a race. I am actively CHASING health. I have taken alot of steps already- being active, exercising, changing my diet, controlling portions, GIVING UP COFFEE FOR GOD'S SAKE!!!!!!!!!! GIVING UP CAKE AND COOKIES AND CARBS!!!!!!!

The surgery is the biggest step, the most important step. I can be afraid of it, but I am doing it anyway- fear or no fear.

Because you know what's scarier?

Hating myself. Pulling myself down. Wrecking my own psyche. Damaging myself.

I am going to be in pain. I am going to have to struggle to figure out what I can and cannot eat, and I am never going to be able to sit at a meal mindlessly.

And maybe that's good. It's GOOD to focus on what you are fueling your body with. To truly see it for what it is, examine it, decide if its nutritionally sound. All of that is good, and I am up for it.

My biggest problem right now is feeling as if I am burdening anybody with this. I do not want anyone to have to go out of their ways to help me, to take care of my kids, or to do anything for me. But that's just not possible. I have to allow people to help- because they want to and they love me. I need to realize that nobody will feel obligated or resentful. But damn it's hard to ask for help. Very hard. But I need it, so...

Please pray for my kiddos. For my family. That this will be an easy recovery and the results will be worth the work and tears that went into the decision.

Thanks friends. Love to all.

Off the rails

2012-01-05T14:07:00.000-08:00

So last night was my first nutritional class for post op.

It scared me to death.

And not because I was worried about never drinking 30 mins before, during, or 30 mins afer neals ever again.

And not because getting enough protein into your small stomach pouch is WORK after surgery.

Not because I have to take chewable supplements 3-4 times as day for the rest of my life.

Not because it will be a struggle not to get dehydrated or anemic.

But because for the first 6 months, I will have to focus ALOT of time and energy on ME.

And I don't do that.

I am a caregiver. I take care of people. And it's not that I don't take care of myself- because I do. But this will require ALOT of time and focus. And it makes me very uncomfortable.

I don't want this to burden anyone.

I don't want to burden anyone with MY care. That's not my role right now. My role is to TAKE CARE of everyone.

I am overwhelmed with the details. I am overwhelmed with figuring out how I am going to balance feeding my children, caring for them, and all of my other responsibilities, along with finding the time to eat when I am not hungry. To cut my food into pencil eraser sized bites, chew it to applesauce consistency, and get in my 1200 calories, 60-80 grams of protein every single day.

Can you imagine?

I can't.

But I CAN imagine a cold white winter day. A cold granite stone with my name on it. And my children crying.

And that is why despite my worries, and despite my concerns, I am going to keep going.

I am going to need help, and prayers, and good friends. My kids will need playdates and other mamas to pick them up and hold them when I won't be able to. My husband will need a break and time to work. We will have to financially sacrifice to hire help if need be, to buy supplements, to pay for the nutrition classes and therapy afterwards.

It seems so so selfish. And so wrong. And entirely the wrong time to focus on myself.

But if I don't do this NOW, I will have to do it LATER. When I am older and less able to recover. When I weigh more and have less mobility. When I have diabetes or my blood pressure isn't controllable anymore.

And so NOW, in this moment, I am choosing my health. And I am choosing to take the time to make this work, to keep myself healthy, and to be HERE for my children.

I am choosing to burden my husband with my care. I am choosing to worry my in-laws and friends. I am choosing to remove myself in some capacity from my children's lives. Even if it is for just a few days.I have never spent a night away from them. I have never been away from either of them for more than 5 hours.

And it breaks my heart. I know that that sounds dramatic, but it is not. My children are my world. I am involved in every aspect of their day. I make all decisions for them. I feed them every meal. I tuck them in every night. I wake them every morning.

And I know that with this decision comes risks. Death. Complications.

That scares me more than I have words for.

And I have no words for that. I have nothing that I can comfort myself with. I can only pray.

And I hope you will keep praying with me.

2.17.07

2011-12-29T08:52:00.001-08:00

My mom died in a stranger's bed. She slipped away peacefully on a painless wave of morphine as I sped toward her over the icy January roads between Texas and Oklahoma.

I was too late by hours, the letter I had written her forgiving her for everything arriving soon after her last breath.

I looked down at her in her coffin. Her hands so still, her mouth pulled down tight. The room smelled of roses, yellow as a sunrise and open to the sky. Roses my father had sent. Her favorite.

She died at the age of 46. Of cancer that ate at her lungs and body.

But she was gone long before that.

Why am I telling you this? I don't know. It's a story God has compelled me to share, stopping me in the midst of vacuuming to sit down and tell it.

She was beautiful. She could make any plant grow. She was mercurial, violent, and generous. She was a study in opposites, a study in what we now know is bi-polar.

She drank all of the time. She drank to tamp down her demon's voices, and to make her moods lie still for a time. But they came back with the sun and sobriety. So many years of mental anguish- and never a diagnosis of mental illness until she was nearly dead of cancer.

It's something I will never understand. Was God giving her a glimpse of what life should have been like- medicated and well? Was he giving me an idea of what she would have been like- or what she could have been? I've had to make peace with not knowing.

I have struggled with guilt all of my life. When I was 6, I was taken away from her- carried by a policeman into a waiting car while I watched the paramedice try to resusitate her. I kept screaming that she needed me. Now I think of the fact that she had taken enough pills to die. How much could she have possibly needed me?

I went back to her. And at 11, was taken away again. I don't remember much of these years, just holding a pillowcase filled with my dolls as I watched her in the doorway, pulling great clouts of hair from her head and crying.

I felt guilt, and anger, and fear until I went back to her at 15. That time when I left, I barely got out alive. She was hell bent on killing me in her drunken mental breakdown.

I tried. So many times. I went between anger and hope. I contacted her, and then withdrew.

And then she was dying. And she was well, all at the same time. A walking corpse with the ability to love me like I had never been.

Then she died.

I have spent hours wrestling with my guilt over what I COULD have done. I went to therapy, worked countless hours on getting in touch with the anger that blazed in me. Anger that was covering the guilt of a daughter who LOVED her mother, but didn't save her.

And it all came down to one moment. Holding my newborn daughter. Looking at the face of innocence and asking God if my mother ever felt this much love for me.

And hearing in the dark stillness- Yes.

Tears flowed, mixing with the milk from my breasts. Nourishing my daughter with both love and remembered grace as I continued to speak to God.

Father, I wanted to save her. I wanted to be ENOUGH. I wanted to be the reason she would save herself.

Nothing on this earth could have saved her. She was ruined for this world. Only the touch of my hand, here, in this place free from pain could save her.

Maybe if I was kinder...

No.

Less selfish- I was always so selfish.

No.

Maybe if I had stayed, all of those times.

No.

Maybe if I had beleived in her more.

No.

If I had only-

No. I am telling you no. Her life was as it should be. She died when I determined. She is healed now. Healed. Free. As you need to be. Nothing you did or could have done would have turned her face away from her own destruction. Her soul was ravaged by illness and sickness. Her healing was made whole the moment after she drew her last breath.

I could have held on.

To what?

For that I didn't have an answer. Because there had never been anything to hold on to.

The dog of guilt lies chained. I remind myself, have to remind myself, that I put these things away on that night. That no matter who I was, how much love I had to give, how much of my innocence was taken, she never could have changed her path. She was meant to live and die as she did. And although I don't know the reasons- I do know the outcome.

She is healed. She is free. And one day I will see her again.

Trashed

2011-12-28T11:47:00.000-08:00

I have been thrown away many times.

I have been pushed aside for the better thing, the feel good thing, and the less needy thing.

I have spent alot of my adult life battling the excessive need to cling, to claw, and to beg for love.

I still walk the line everyday between what is normal love, and what is excessive love.

Alot of days I get it right. Some days I don't.

I firmly believe God allowed my early days to be tainted by grief and horror. He watched as others abused me for their own sake. He could have stopped it. He didn't. And that used to make me angry, but now I can see it more clearly.

God was teaching me to treasure love.

Here I am. I am married, after swearing I would never marry again. I have 2 children, after acknowledging that I probably never should. That it would be an uphill climb every single day to not repeat the past.

But I have done it. And I would do all of it- all of the hurt of the past, relive it all, to be in this skin now.

Love is not easy to find. And it is not easy to keep. It is work, a constant state of compromise and revision of self. It is putting others before you. It is sacrificing for the good of the whole.

Yes, I have been trashed. I have been forgotten and tossed away. I have seen the turned back, the empty eyes, the raised hand. I have been bloodied. I have run away on legs that hurt, with a heart screaming "Please just love me! I am all ALONE!"

I have now, in my arms and heart, the things my own parents never had. A strong marriage, children whose needs are put first, a safe haven from the world. I have a family and loneliness is not something I carry today.

But because I remember, and because I carry just enough of the girl I was, I don't forget.

I have been trashed. But I have also always been treasured- rescued by the One who knows all and sees all- the One who reaches past and reaches higher than I ever could.

And that is enough.

Head shrinker

2011-12-23T05:13:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I had my first psyc evaluation for the surgery.

I was nervous, but my aunt and Mark sent me off with a cheerful- "If you aren't back in 2 hours we will assume they threw you into the looney bin!"

Loving support. It's essential.

*huge eye roll*

So I walked into the office with paperwork in hand- 17 pages of paperwork.

I was shown back into my therapists office.

She was beautiful and skinny. I wanted to hate her.

But she was also funny and kind and sweet. So I had to like her.I hate it when that happens.

We talked alot about my history with weight, how long I have struggled with it- 23 years- and what my goal weight will be after surgery.

I said 160-170.

She nodded, but looked me dead in the eye and said- "You know you may lose more than that."

Well, no. I hadn't considered that. I don't know what losing that much weight would actually feel like.

How will I fit in my skin? What will I wear? How will I look? It will still be me, but will I look like me?

She also pointed out that I may get some very unwelcome attention from men.

I hadn't considered that either.

Being fat is isolating. It keeps people, especially men, from paying much attention to me.

And if I begin to get comments it's really gonna piss me off. If just the fact that I am slimmer makes men think they can then comment on my looks, I am gonna end up punching somebody in the mouth.

Well not really. I won't punch them. But I will definitely think about it.

I also had to take the most random psych test ever on the computer. True/false. 165 strange questions. So far that has been the most painful part of this experience.

So. We are down to one more psych appointment, and 2 dietician classes before I have my final appt with the doc.

One down, 4 to go.

Sing, sing, sing...

2011-12-20T11:11:00.000-08:00

My precious girl had her Christmas program today.

It was lovely, and funny, and sweet. I could barely see her through my tears.

And I wondered as I sat and watched and discreetly wiped my eyes- why does the sight of these little souls make me so emotional?

Because the songs they are singing are about my Savior. The One I know, the One I love, the One who saved me.

My path to Him has been quite broken, carved from rock and stone, wet with tears, trod with heavy feet and a heavier soul.

But these little ones- my sweet little girl up there singing- they are singing for the glory of a God they know and do not doubt. Their songs are pure, coming from a place of the most glorious worship- a place of belief.

Their hearts are open to the words they sing- "Silent Night, Holy Night..." Their minds find the wonder of the nativity, of the birth of the Christ child, lying calm and peaceful in the stable. They see Him in pictures, and hear about him in song, and to them he is as real as we are.

The room for doubt has not entered their lives yet. The cynicism we carry as adults is absent. It is pure innocent love, these little voices lifted to their heavenly father.

To be that trusting again...

We are to have faith like a child. But the world sometimes speaks louder than God does. His is a quiet form of communication. You have to be very still to hear Him. But the world, the world shrieks at us day after day, drowning out the whisper of the One we are longing to hear from.

But my daughter listens to that still small voice. There is room in her heart not taken up with the cares of adult life. There is room in her soul for God to sing.

And sing she did, today. Loud and with her whole heart.

"Away in a manger, no crib for a bed. The little lord Jesus lay down his sweet head..."

Bypassed

2011-12-14T09:50:00.000-08:00

I have been fat since I was 10. I fell, broke my ankle, and discovered sweets all at the same time. It took me one summer to become addicted to sugar.

I ate every feeling I had from then on, burying it under candy, chocolate, cookies, sweets...anything. It comforted me in the midst of some supremely uncomfortable circumstances.

I was chubby all through my teens, leaning out a few times when food was scarce or rantioned from me.

But I always went back to sugar.

I ate through a terrible marraige- stuffing pasta and sweets through a bruised and bleeding mouth far too many times.

I never exercised. I never played sports.

I can tell you that I utterly ruined myself. Without question the body I am sitting in today is of my own creation.

But seven years ago I began to change everything. My eating changed, my habits changed, and I discovered the feeling exercise can give- that rush of endorphins, the heady sense of accomplishment.

I worked out every single day before my wedding. I woke up at 5, got to the gym, busted my butt for 2 hours, and went to work.

And I never got below 200 pounds. I was toned and fit and had the stamina of a teenager, but I was still fat.

My eating morphed more and more into healthy mode- chicken, veggies, fish, fruit.

I never lost a pound.

I got pregnant with my daughter. I walked all through my pregnancy. I got diabetes. I ate nothing but cheese and veggies the last 3 months before she was born.

I weighed 232 the day I gave birth to her.

I joined Stroller Strides.

I busted my butt.

I never lost a pound.

My bp has always been an issue, and it rose steadily until I switched meds. Then it would be good for a few months, and go through the roof again.

I got pregnant with Sam. I avoided gestation diabetes through diet and exercise. I gained no weight with him. The day I delivered Sam I was 208.

I nursed him, I exercised, I ate well.

I have been exercising consistently since he was born.

My weight has climbed to where I was when I delivered Lily.

Now, alot of people will say they eat well. Many people will say they exercise vigorously. But they don't.

I DO.

I have been to 6 doctors in the past 6 years. I have been vegan, done Weight Watchers, juice fasts, eaten nothing but fruit for days. I am up to doing cardio for one hour everyday, maintaining a bpm of 150-170 the entire time. I lift weights every day. I eat less than most people I know.

But here I am. In this body.

And I hate what I see in the mirror. I cry at the sight of my stomach and my thighs. I have broken down in dressing rooms, in bathrooms during parties, in bed next to my husband.

I hate my body. And I am trapped in it, despite my efforts.

I want to be a runner. But at this weight, my ankles and feet hurt so badly I can't walk the next day. I want to be able to run after my kids. I want to look into the mirror and smile.

I want to walk Lily down the aisle at her wedding. I want to watch Sam play pro football. I want to BE THERE for them.

And at this weight, with my blood pressure creeping up, I won't be.

I WILL develop diabetes. I may have heart disease. I may stroke out. I may leave my children when they need me.

And I cannot do that. I can't. I cannot do what was done to me.

So.

In the next few months I will be having gastric bypass.

And yes, I know. I don't look like people who typically have it. My BMI is barely on the cusp of making me a candidate.

But I can say to you today, with total honesty and transparency, that I have tried everything else. Everything. I am doing all of the right things, but not getting the health results I am looking for.

It is surgery. There are inherent risks. But the risk of me carrying 100 extra pounds for the rest of my life is much much riskier.

It is painful. Recovery can be hard. I am ready to face that head on, so that 20 years from now, I am still standing at my childrens side.

I am not looking for a quick fix, or an easy fix. After all, what can be easy about major surgery? What can be easy about turning your stomach into the size of an egg, having only clear liquids for weeks, and getting incredibly sick if you eat the wrong thing?

There is nothing easy about not being able to eat sweets ever again, or to radically change my relationship with food.

I am not doing this because I dont want to exercise. I am not doing it because I need something extreme to make me eat differently.

I am doing it because I have no other choice. It is THIS, or diseases with a hugh mortality rate 10 years from now.

And I am refusing to go anywhere. I will be here for my children. I will be here for my husband. If it takes surgery, pain, and recovery to do that, so be it.

My blood will never be spilled for something greater.

I could hide this. I could not tell anyone. I considered it strongly. There is alot of shame in admitting that you cannot conquer your own body.But I have done the hard work to get here- this is just one more tool to help me achieve my goal of being healthy for the rest of my life.

And,I am going to take you with me. I am going to write about it. Because, after all, you have been with me through everything. Through birth and death and depression and joy and a thousand discoveries.

Here's another path we can walk together. Care to join me?

Blessed

2011-12-11T16:17:00.000-08:00

I have this friend.

She is so awesome. And cute. And sweet. And skinny. And smart. So I wanna hate her.

But instead I love her.

And she is having a baby.

Her second.

I was there when she found out for sure.

We squealed and hugged and cried and jumped around together.

She looked at me through joyful tears as she held the pregnancy test and said "Oh my gosh I am freaking out!"

And I knew what she meant.

Cause I've been there.

There are so many things I want to tell her. A thousand pieces of advice I want to give.

But the truth is, we all have to figure it out on our own. How to be a mother to more than one.

It is a sacred thing, this opening of a mother's heart. It comes in waves during pregnancy, between the busy-ness of caring for your older child and anticipating the one to come. There is less time for reflection or daydreaming about what life will be like with another baby because you are busy with your first. Time flies.

And then they are there. And you look at them and your heart just doubles in size. And within a few spare moments, it is as if there was never a moment they weren't there with you, or a part of your family.

It is amazing and wondrous.

You will watch your children meet and you will cry because it is your dream made flesh, right before you. You will watch your older child kiss your newborn and your heart will burst.

You will lie in bed with your hand on the baby in the bassinet and listen to the other one on the monitor and you will smile at the wonder that is your life.

You will nurse the baby while making lunch for the other. You will hold both in the rocker and read. You will hug them both while they cry and then cry yourself.

And there will be a day when you will be tired and frustrated and you will look at them both and think you are not good enough for either one. You will wonder if you can do this. You will be beside yourself and the day will seem endless.

But it's not. It's not endless. And you ARE good enough.

You will look at both of your children together one day, and they will be playing side by side, in that sweet silent companionship that can only be shared by someone of your own blood. You will watch them and know that long after you are gone, they will have each other. You have given them a profound gift- a companion for life.

Being a mom of two is a huge transition. It means less rest, more noise, more chaos. But by God's grace it also means doubled joy and laughter. It means your family is one bigger, one stronger. It means you grow as a mother, as a child of God, and as a person.

It is another step on the journey of parenting, one that is momentous and huge- and so so worth it.

St Mary

2011-11-11T09:40:00.000-08:00

Shades of gray lie stroked by the winter sunshine. Wooden pews lined like soldiers, gleaming with lavender oil, creaking with age. The granite altar lies bare of ornament. There is no sound but my breathing. No color but from the windows, stained with pictures in garish colors.

She stands. Veiled in marble. Face soft and peaceful. Feet bare and elegant against her pedestal.

She is the essence of all I long for.

Her presence is a soft as a whisper, as loud as my heartbeat.

I bow my head, and I FEEL her. The smell of roses fill the air. Her veil makes a velvet sound as her arms come around my small and cold form.

She is. I know this, as much as I know I have hands. She is.

I have felt her since I could know love. I have seen her against the back of my closed eyelids countless times.

She has led me, haltingly and with terror, to God.

She has slipped my small and bloodstained hand, my ragged edged fingers, my perfectly manicured nails, my bare knuckles, my wedding ringed hand...all into His.

She has cradled me, held me, and wept with me.

She has seen me deny my belief. She has seen me turn my back.

And still she comes into my dreams of blood and screaming and brings the scent of roses.

She is at my back as I pray. She bows her head with mine.

She has watched as the void of mother has been filled by earthly women- Aunt, friends, mother in law.

She has always been the balm to my wounded child's heart.

Many nights I still dream of her. I walk, barefooted into a grotto of stone. Roses grow wild along every surface. It is twilight. My heart aches like an animal trapped in my chest. I long for things I don't even know have words. The deepest of primal things. The most sacred of bonds.

I long for mother.

And she is there. I run. I become smaller as I take each step, until I am Lily's age.

She does not smile. She only stares into my eyes. I feel known. I feel tears, hot and terrible at the knowing.

And after she looks at me, after she sees all that I am- every mistake and lie and sin, she opens her arms.

She wraps me in her arms and veil. I am encompassed by the oldest and deepest love I have ever known. One that recognizes that in the end I am only that small girl, staring up into her marble likeness and weeping bitter salt upon her feet.

Her head arcs into mine, placed softly onto my own. She rocks.

And when it is over, the tears and the need for her, she stands and takes my hand.

And together we go to God.

"O Mary, mystic rose, whose lovable heart, burning with the living fire of love, adopted us as thy children at the foot of the Cross, becoming thus our most tender Mother, make me experience the sweetness of thy motherly heart and the power of thine intercession with Jesus, in all the dangers that beset me during life, and especially at the dread hour of my death; in such wise may my heart be ever united to thine, and love Jesus both now and through endless ages. Amen "
Prayer of Intercession to the Immaculate Heart of Mary

A rant.

2011-10-31T13:22:00.000-07:00

I am annoyed. Extremely.

By this sign. Yeah, that seeimgly innocous saying.

A saying that I am supposed to look at and say- "Well good for you. You put your kids before the housework. Your house is a mess but your k ids are all smiles. Awesome."

I call BS.

My job is my kids, yes. But my job is also my house. Because that is the environment they live in.

Isn't part of being a good mom making sure their home is clean? That they lay their heads on clean sheets, bathe in a clean tub, wear clean clothes? That they eat from a clean kitchen?

They are not mutually exclusive. They can go together, and do, in this house.

Ring my bell. Come into my home. You will see that it is clean. Not perfect, but clean. There are a few crumbs and dishes and laundry in the dryer. There is dog hair on the floor and markers and cars scattered throught.

But no sticky floors. No dirty oven. No messy kitchen.

And where are my kids when I am cleaning? Playing. By themselves. *gasp* Or watching a movie. By themselves. *double gasp*

You know what else? Taking the time to clean makes me a better mom. I can THINK better in my house when it is picked up and clean. I am happier and calmer. I can give more of myself to my children.

So, I am a good mom with happy kids. And my house is really clean. Because that is my JOB, and I am good at making time for both.

And if you have sticky floors, and a messy kitchen, that's FINE. But don't assume that just because my house is immaculate I am neglecting my kiddos.

Rant over.

Dust

2011-10-26T10:56:00.000-07:00

The Kansas sky rolls by the window, blue shot with heavy gray clouds. I press my face against the seat, my back to the shallow murmurs in front of me. I can hear my belongings rattling in the trunk, my clothes still on hangers, my stereo braced tight against a suitcase filled with pictures.

My tears fall freely at times, and then dry up with no warning. I have no control anymore of when they come.

The car slides left, pulls to a stop. I hear my brother get out and open my door.

"Hey, sis. We are making a pit stop. Need anything?"

I shake my head. I feel weightless and burdened all at once.

He looks off into the distance, his jaw twitching. His blue eyes tell more than his words ever could.

He doesn't know what to say to me. I don't know what I want to hear.

My skin still holds the mark of her hands. My shoulder aches from blows. My skin is stretched tight over a body that doesn't know how to move without remembering. My mind has leveled out and shut down.

I want to scream. I want to never talk again.

I have nowhere to go. I am at the mercy of whatever family member draws the short straw to rescue me from my mother again.

This time it is Troy who stands where others have stood.

I cannot make words come. I cannot say anything other than "Thank you.", words that seems so small against the sacrifice of driving hundreds of miles, leaving your own children behind, to rescue your sister from foster care. Again.

I am ashamed. I am broken.

He closes the door softly, and walks away with his shoulder hunched against the wind.

I look out from the window. The words lie like sleeping dogs in my mind-

"Where are you, God?"

Just a week ago I had been to church. I had sat in sunday school with other 14 year olds. I was told God was like the wind- an unseen force. I had rolled my eyes like everyone else but in my mind I prayed it was true.

Unseen.

But real.

I step out of the car, watching only my battered shoes as they carry me across pavement into grass and brush. I look up into a sky as wide as any I have seen. The blue stretches end to end over me. The wind buffets me, pushing my clothing aside, pulling my hair to hide my face.

"I can't do this God. I don't know where I belong."

The wind pushes harder against me, pulling me front to back. Dust swirls.

"If you are here, if you are real, show me. Help me to know."

From the distant highway it rose up. Taller than me, clouded in swirls.

Dust.

It rushed to me, covering me there on that lonely place. Coating me with grit and dirt.
It made my eyes sting, made me cough.

I got back in the car.

My tongue found lips coated in dust. My figers held it in their grooves. My hair was pearly gray with it.

Proof of wind. Proof of the unseen, seen. Seen and felt.

My eyes ran with more than dust as the wind rolled by my window.

What I know.

2011-10-20T18:09:00.000-07:00

Here's what I know for sure about parenting:

I don't know how to be a mother, but I am a good one anyway.

My kids will not always act perfectly, and I will be "that mom" with the screaming kid in the store alot, but it is not going to define me as a mother. I am more than that moment. And you are too.

I can love them and still screw them up. But I keep trying to do better.

I am not my mother, and I NEVER WILL BE.

I set the tone for this household. When mama is happy, kids are happy. I set the tone, and I need to always remember that. It's up to me.

Laundry piles up. Never skip a day.

Wine is good, but tea is better. And sleep is best.

The cure for a meltdown is compassion. Yes, they need to console themselves, but they can do that just as easily in my arms as out.

I must ALWAYS apologize when I have wronged my children. Sincerely and with eye contact.

It's okay to cry in front of my kids.

Laughing, wrestling, and acting like fools is required.

Sometimes the most powerful thing I can give my kids is love, because it is hard to understand a 2 year olds desperate need for a spatula and an oven mitt RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW.

Occasionally they will confound me (a spatula, really, this is something to have a kicking screaming meltdown over?) but I will still always know them better than anyone else.

If there is ever any question, the answer is love. And chocolate. And wine.

Ahem.

The Jar

2011-10-20T06:17:00.000-07:00

In my home. In my room. Next to where I lay my head each night.

It sits. Encased in glass and filled with rounded stones.

Each stone marked with a name. A name that means loss. A name that is treasured. A name that is honored, in this small way.

The babies we lost have no grave marker. They have not been buried. Their bodies did not recieve last rites.

But they were mourned. And they are loved. And they are remembered.

I cannot say why this happens to us. I do know that God knows much more of the picture than I do, and that my loss is in His plan. But this is sometimes very cold comfort to my heart.

I don't believe you ever get over the loss of a baby. I know that in my life, I have absorbed the loss. It has become part of me. One that I speak of openly. I love my Joshua. He is still part of our family. He is a part of my story as a mother.

The face of pregnancy and infant loss cannot be pictured. It is the 60 year old nurse holding my hand and crying with me as I have an ultrasound searching for a heartbeat. It is the young mother with 2 small children that still remembers the one who came before the ones she now holds. It is a grandmother mourning for her unborn grandchild. It is the husband holding his sobbing wife.

It has no face, the loss, because it is everyone of us. We are all touched by it.

So whether the loss is openly worn, or something quiet and secret in the heart, it still exists.

In my house, in my room, is a jar. It holds the names of the babies my friends have carried and lost. It is my way of remembering not just mine, but also yours. It is a tangible reminder of the unseen little one I still hold in my soul.

(If you have lost a baby, and want me to remember your baby with you, please leave a comment with the name of your lost one, and I will add them to my jar.)

Pass or fail.

2011-10-18T06:15:00.000-07:00

I am so tired. Not physically, but mentally.

I am tired of grading myself all of the time.

House not perfectly clean- fail.

Kids eating a Happy Meal for dinner- fail.

Kids watching too much tv- fail.

Eating too many cookies- fail.

Not being thinner- fail.

Wanting to nap instead of do laundry- fail.

Not being as fun/sexy/cute as I used to be for my husband- fail.

I am exhausted. EXHAUSTED.

I have good kids. I have a good husband. I know this. And I know I put alot of myself into these relationships- but it just never feels like enough.

There's not enough of myself to have anything left for myself.

I am so weary. I love my life. I am SO blessed. But at times, I feel deeply burdened by it all.

And that is a huge failure to me.

What is wrong with me, that I cannot see anything beyond the failures?

I look at my beautiful clean house and only see the laundry waiting to be folded. I look at my sweet happy kids and only see the messy face or the stained clothing.

I need to learn to LOOK BEYOND what I see.

To see that my daughter is loved not just by me, but by everyone. Because she is sensitive and nurturing and kind. - Success

That my son is strong and fearless and loving.- success

That my relationship with my husband is close and safe and we laugh ALOT.- success

That the time I would normally take making my house spotless is much better spent wrestling with Sam or coloring with Lily. -success

I don't know how other moms see themselves. I don't know if anyone else struggles with this. But I DO know that we are always our own worst critics. And what I can say about that is maybe we need to look at ourselves as God sees us.

He sees our heart. He sees our struggle to BE all TO all. He knows that at the heart and center of our lives are the children he gave us. I also believe that the internal dialogue berating myself for the unwashed dish or the piled up laundry makes Him sad.

So today is a day for changing. For loving on my kids and letting the house come in a distant second. For not pretending to be perfect. For not acting as if I have it all together. For being myself- with all of my flawed thinking- and knowing that as long as my kids and husband feel loved, I am doing the best job I can.

A trip to the grocery store with Mark

2011-10-12T19:34:00.000-07:00

Produce:
Mark- WE NEED BANANAS!!!!!!
Me- *points silently to the bananas already in cart*
Mark- Oh.

Deli:
Mark- Oooooooo pancetta. Salami! Oooooo copocolla.
Me- We are getting HAM.
Mark- But...
Me- HAM!And lowfat cheese.
Mark- %$%^$#^&*(*$##%^&&*

Aisle 3:
Me- This chicken stock is less expensive. Let's get this one.
Mark- But it sucks.
Me- It doesn't suck, it just has no sodium.
Mark- Yeah, that sucks.
Me- I am trying to keep you HEALTHY!
Mark- I won't eat food that sucks. Sodium rules.

Aisle 5:
Me, consulting list and flyer-Okay, let's pick 4 cereals.
Mark looks up from his armful of Corn Pops, Apple Jacks, and Frosted Flakes.
Me- Oooookay. Now let's pick one for you and me.
Mark- *holds up a box of Apple Jacks* Duh!
Me- No way. Those are loaded with sugar.
Mark- They are healthy,see? APPLE jacks. APPLES.
Me- *sighs and takes down a box of bran buds*

Aisle 7:
Me- Lean Cuisines are on sale.
Mark- Let's get some.
Me- Dude, I will. But you have to promise me you won't eat them with Doritos.
Mark- Sorry, that's how I roll. I'm a foodie.
Me- Forget it.
Mark- Look, Hungry Man dinners. A GOOD sized portion.
Me- And an assload of sodium and fat.
Mark- And your point?

Aisle 9:
Me: Okay, help me pick out some frozen waf- Ummm honey?
Mark: Wha?
Me: Can you please stop licking the glass in front of the pizza rolls and help me?
Mark: No. I need a moment.

This has been grocery time with Bella. Tune in next week when hopefully I will be smart enough NOT to take my husband. Ahem.

Freaking Out!

2011-10-12T06:26:00.000-07:00

I hate being sick. With a passion.

Well, not true actually. I hate the kinda sick where you can do NADA. Like just lay on the couch kinda sick.

And it's not because I feel bad, or because I am not well taken care of.

It's because I AM NOT IN CONTROL.

I am a serious control freak. About everything house and children related. I need to be in charge of it all.

And when I can't be it makes me nutso.

I love my husband. He is VERY good at jumping in and taking care of things on the few times I go down. He cooks, takes care of the kids, cleans up, etc.

But he doesn't do it my way. He does it HIS WAY.

And yesterday we had an arguement about it. I was annoyed with the way he did something. I told him. He very politely told me to stuff it.

He was right. (ouch) So I did. (double ouch)

And I thought about it alot. Why am I like this? Why the constant need to have everyone and everything under my thumb? MY way or the highway.

It's NOT an endearing quality, I assure you.

If the floor is dirty, I obsess over it. If the laundry is not caught up on, I cannot sleep. If the sinks have not been sanitized, I WILL scrub them at 3 in the morning. And I have NO CLUE why I am like this. It can't be much fun to live with.

So, friends, is anybody else rowing this same boat? Cause I kinda feel like a freak. A control freak, that is. Ahem.

Lily

2011-10-04T10:59:00.000-07:00

We have had an emotional couple of days around here.

Little miss has been alternatively sad, tearful, upset, withdrawn, and quiet.

Too quiet.

Yesterday we went to the park. She rode her bike. Halfway through she turned to me with tears in her eyes and said "I'm sorry mommy, but my legs hurt." She then began crying.

I was torn. Do I encourage her to keep going so she can experience success? Or do I stop her, sit down on the cold pavement, and hold her?

I wanted to hold her. But I told her to keep going.

She did. She made it. But she cried the whole way.

The way home was way worse. She made it, again, with tears the whole way.

And in my heart I just kept praying..."Lord, be near to her. Be in her heart. Encourage her not to give up when things are hard. Help her to know it is so so worth it when you finish."

When we came home, I went to hug her and she stepped away.

"Mommy, I just want to go to my room and be alone."

I was floored. She has never ever not allowed me to comfort her.

I let her go, watching her through my own tears.

I sat just outside the doorway of her room, listening to my baby girl cry.

And my insides felt as if they would burst. My heart was in my throat. My own tears fell.

Soon the sounds of crying subsided.

I went to prepare dinner as I waited for her to come out.

And when she did, she was still tearful, but strong.

"I'm okay now mommy."

And she was.

This morning she was fragile. Quiet again.

I drove her to school, looking back at her a few times. She was staring out the window.

And my heart just wrenched...wondering- is this the point then? Is this where biology takes over and she becomes unstable and depressive? Is this when the bad cells I have passed to her make themselves known?

And if so, I will trample the world and anyone in it to make her better again. To make her soul and body a place she can live in with comfort. I will stand between her and whatever this is. I will take it on for her, and never stop until she is well.

I armed myself for battle in those minutes. I strengthened myself against feelings of self hatred for passing this monster into the sweetness of my girl's soul.

And then she spoke.

"Mama?"
"Yes love?"
"I was having a bad day yesterday."
"Yes."
"But today the sun is shining in my heart."

She got out of the car at school. I watched as she ran onto the playground. She stood for a few long seconds, pressed against the blue sky and the bright sun. Her back was to me.

Was she uncertain? Was she sad? Was she worried?

I prepared to get out of the car to check.

And she turned toward me, eyes lighting up as she saw a friend. They latched hands and ran toward the bright sun, laughter like music from their lips.

And God whispered into the dark recesses of my thoughts:

"Go. I am with her."

And I did.

The diff

2011-10-03T11:15:00.000-07:00

Here's the dif between men and women in a nutshell.

This is what I need to hang a new bulletin board in the hallway:

hammer (or a shoe if the hammer is too far away)
nails
Diet Coke
10 minutes

This is what my husband needs to hang a new bulletin board:

Hammer
nails
screws
stabilizers
level
15 diff size nails
tape measure
a wide variety of new and interesting curse words
45 minutes

The result: exactly the same.

Ahem.

Friend...

2011-09-30T18:31:00.000-07:00

I have this friend.

I sat across from her tonight at dinner while she ran herself down.

And my heart broke a little.

Because she is so utterly amazing.

She makes me smile just by being herself. She makes me laugh until I pee. She is kind and thoughtful. And she is beyond loyal.

And the things she runs herself down for...God they are just...nothing. Small. Insignificant in the amazingness that is her.

Nothing to ME, but huge to her.

And I wish I could tell her without crying how amazing she is. And how much I adore her. And how she fills this place in my life that I didn't know was so very empty.

And how wonderful of a mother she is. So thoughtful and so conscious of her words and deeds. How loving and protective.

She is amazing. She is wonderful. And I adore her and love her.

But I can't convince her. I can't make her see because she has been conditioned to think that her small flaws are WHO SHE IS.

And they are so not. Not even remotely.

She is gorgeous. She is somebody I can call at 3 in the morning. She is THERE. No matter what.

So how do I tell her these things, and how do I make her see what I see?

The beauty.

The intelligence.

The kindness that draws people to her.

The love she gives.

All of this is who she is...nothing else. Just these things.

God made her so beautiful. He made her perfect. And he gave her an amazing heart.

I love her so very very much.

And if she runs herself down again, I will tell her these things. No matter if it gets through or not. No matter that I can't talk through the tears that come because I can't believe she doesn't see what I see.

I wll tell her until she believes. And I will pray that God gives my words more weight than what her own mind tells her.

So.

2011-09-28T12:15:00.001-07:00

I have nothing to say. But God is insisting I sit down and write. Even though I want to go to the fabric store. Or fill up another cup of coffee. Or pee.

But noooooooo. He's all kindsa bossy like that.

And so here I sit.

And so what can I tell you? I am currently sitting here with tissues up my nose. I have no makeup on and I smell rather funky. My stomach is sticking out and my shirt is way too tight.

I can hear my kids destroying their playroom.

But here I am Lord.

Obedient.

The picture of obedience. With tissues up my nose.

Ahem.

*twiddling thumbs*

You are afraid to be still.

Oh Lord.

Yes I am. Terrified of my own mind and what goes through it when I allow myself to rest. On a constant treadmill of go go go stay ahead of all of it.

Afraid to fail.

Afraid of being labelled lazy.

Afraid to think.

Afraid of myself and my thoughts and my own muddled imperfect mind and judgement.

AFRAID AFRAID AFRAID.

Afraid of the flashbacks that come.

Afraid of failing my children

Afraid of being 100 percent who I am, because what if I fall on my face?

Oh Lord in heaven, yes yes, I am afraid to be still.

And so I sit here. With this fear.

And in the space of hitting the space bar I have had 10 thoughts.

WhatarethekidsdoingIneedtocleangetupanddosomethingthehouseisamessyouareamessbeproductivehwyareyousittinglazylazylazy.

Yes, yes Lord. I am afraid to be still.

But it is in the moments when I slow down that I can commune with God as I feel I should. When I am sewing, watching stitches line up in rows. When I am cleaning, making my world neat and orderly. When I am vacuuming or dusting or writing, I feel Him.

But the moment I stop.

It all goes nutso in my head. The chaos ratchets up. The incessant murmuring that implores me to keep going, be more, do more, see more, be better, no failing cranks up to operatic proportions and I cannot see God for my own mess. It is like trying to reach through a raging ocean to touch Him.

And I cannot calm it.

So here I am. Afraid to be still. Afraid to be.

Afraid to be.

And this is what God has wanted me to say for so long. To recognize for so long.

I am afraid to be still. And that has to change.

Psalm 46:10
“Be still, and know that I am God"

Sanctuary

2011-09-26T10:28:00.000-07:00

I sometimes wake up with a heaviness in my body. A distinct pressure in my chest, pulling down my stomach, hanging onto my throat.

Tears threaten at any moment. My spirit is shaky.

I am fragile, and vulnerable, and easily wounded on these days.

And I am grateful for it.

I used to try and push this feeling aside, to unwind it from my mind and spirit. I used to battle it into submission. I used to hide it under food, or distract myself from it with other things.

It hasn't gotten any easier to feel, but I feel it anyway. I let it lead me down it's dark paths.

Because I have found that when I follow these feelings into the vast underground, they lead me to a place of profound sadness that TEACHES me. I sit with it. I feel it. And from this place come some of my most profound lessons.

It is where I learned to forgive my mother. Where I mourned for Joshua. Where I took my pain and bitterness over the past.

It is where I was led to relive memories long buried. It where those memories got put into a context that made my life make sense. It is where I allow myself to feel the burdens and the pain of years past, so that when I re-emerge into this world I am cleansed.

It builds up, this feeling. This inner drive to break down and let loose all of the heavy and bitter things I live with and taste everyday. It takes me back to being alone and helpless. It puts my life and my place in it into perspective.

And where I go, it is dark. It is deep. It is the well from which I draw all strength of being and purpose.

It is at the foot of the cross.

It is at the foot of the One who saved me from myself. The One who holds all of my darkness like the sacred gift it is.

It is a gift. Being wounded and harmed is a gift. It is the way to a deeper peace and serenity...to know what it feels like to be in chaos.

I go to this place, I sit at His feet. I let go of all of the things that hold me up everyday. And I simply am what I am. A burdened and broken down soul.

And He lifts those things from my shoulders. He puts me back together.

And He sets me back into this life He has given me, a life he helped me hold on to.

No man on this earth can bear my burdens for me. Nobody knows what I have walked through, lived through, or seen. Nobody can know the fear and fatigue I carry within me. Nobody but Him.

Because He chose me for it. He chose me, and I chose him to help me carry it.

So today I am broken. I am sad. And it is good with me. It incites no panic, no worry.

Because I have a plaxce to take it. I have a deep and warm sanctuary to carry myself to.

The foot of the cross. At His feet.

Commitment

2011-09-25T17:31:00.000-07:00

I am not a big believer in marriage.

Really not.

I have seen very few good marriages modeled for me. I have seen very few long term healthy relationships.

I think many many people get married for the wrong reasons. For passion. For money. For love.

Yes, love.

I don't think love is a reason to get married.

Love is amazing. It feels so incredible to be loved and to love somebody. But marriage requires ten-fold more than love.

It requires tremendous patience, sacrifice, and time. It requires work. Dedication. And a commitment to see things through regardless of circumstance.

It is essential to marry somebody that you can parent beside. Somebody who you can stand next to in all situations. This is the person you will go through all of life's big events with- pregnancy, childbirth, parental death. This is the person you Will buy homes with, pay bills with, and sleep next to every night.

Love is great. Love is not enough reason to be married.

And I struggle with this daily.

I love my husband. But we don't parent the same way. We don't care about the same things.

But I have chosen to stand next to him for all time. I made a promise to God. I made a commitment to see it through.

And I will. There is no turning back for me.

And not because we are married. I am glad that we are. It was an outward ceremony for an inward choice.

A choice that had nothing to do with love or passion- and everything to do with choosing to promise to God to make a family and stand with that family for life.

Is it always happy? No.

Is it always easy. No.

But is it forever? Yes.

I have been rocked in the past week by the knowledge that a marriage close to me is ending. And it has caused me to feel by turns anxious, sad, and resigned. This is not a surprise to me. But it is difficult and makes me examine my relationship more closely.

I cannot say that I have it all figured out. I can't say that I do everything right in my relationship,or that I have any answers on how to make it last.

I can only say that the choice I made 6 years ago stands and will stand forever for me. I cannot be moved from the side of the man I chose, the man I feel God gave to me.

Even when it's difficult or challenging. Even when we are pulled apart by our lives. Even when marriages around us crumble.

He is still mine. I am still his.

Forever.

Joshua Lee

2011-09-12T07:44:00.000-07:00

9.13

Your due date is inscribed on my heart, my sweet lost little boy.

Today you would have been 2.

And I know, I know with everything in me that you still live. You live in my Savior's arms. You are watched by those who have gone before. You are held. You live in a world of no pain, no tears, and no despair.

And I know, my sweetest boy, that I will see you again. But my mother's heart is torn this day. My soul is wounded with your loss.

There is a pull between what is here and what is not- after all, without losing you I would not have Sam. But my arms still ache to have held you, just once. To have kissed your forehead. To have whispered to you to wait for me, and one day, I will come to you.

Even without the tangible remembrance of you in my arms, I still feel you. I watched as everyday a creature would come and sit on your resting place. I watched as butterflies flitted about your statue. And now every time I see a butterfly I think of you, and say hello to your little soul.

And now, Lily does the same- shouting out "Hello baby Joshua!" each time a butterfly passes by. It heals me, this knowing that in some small way, you are remembered.

We were in church yesterday, and the pastor spoke of trauma, saying it was not something you get over, but something that you absorb. And I finally had words for what I feel. I will never be over you. But you, my sweet one, are absorbed into every single fiber of my being. You are remembered in my soul.

I carry you far longer in my heart than I did in my body. And I love you more than words can say.

One day...

Love,
Mama

9-12-01

2011-09-11T18:50:00.000-07:00

9.12.01

The day after.

When everything fell apart, but remarkably everyone held together.

As a people, as a country.

Everything changed in a way that cannot be formed into words. There is not language for such loss. There is no articulation for such devastation.

There is just tears. Tears that create images and words that come from a deeper place than language can go. Tears that fall freely, but do not cleanse this away.

We cannot cleanse the blood that was spilled. We cannot undo the lost lives, the fatherless children, the motherless babies. We cannot undo the scattered ash of a thousand bodies or the terror of the hours afterward. We cannot go back.

But we must remember.

We must remember those that died. Those that jumped. Those that rushed in when everyone else rushed out. Those that picked up a phone in a burning room and spoke the words that will never be forgotten. Those that called out to God and felt His presence as they stepped between the doorway of here and heaven. And those that waited for the call that did not come. Those who went to sleep in a bed far too empty. Those who have lived with the void that was created.

We must remember that day.

But I want to live in 9-12. A day when it didn't matter what religion you were- because you prayed anyway. When it didn't matter who your neighbor was- because you went to them and spoke to them. When you called your loved ones and your words were like a waterfall...quenching and unstoppable. When you lived in the moment of not knowing what the future was. Is it your turn next? When will the next plane come? Will it be you this time?

And if so, what do you believe? And who do you love? And what is important?

So live this day as you did THAT day. Give with everything in you. Pray without ceasing. Go out into the world with a profound sense of dedication to unity. Give of yourself. Speak the words that you have kept caged. Live as if it were your last day.

And mostly, love those around you. Give freely of your words and affection. Say the things that must be said.

Do these things for those that died on 911. So that their deaths have meaning and purpose that stretch into our world, even today.

10 years later.

911

2011-09-11T18:46:00.000-07:00

Life breaks

2011-09-06T18:16:00.000-07:00

In this world, we are acquainted with pain. People hurt us.

Life circumstances break us.

Who can we turn to when life is too much for our human heart?

I wrote about it over at (in)courage today. You can read it here.

Much love to you today, friend.

35 and 350

2011-09-06T06:31:00.000-07:00

This is my 350th post. It seems sooooo crazy, but there it is. 350 times I have sat down and put my heart to page. It seems only fitting that this falls on the week of my 35th birthday!

Speaking of, my husband threw me a sweet surprise party on Saturday. There was great food, great friends, and alot of laughter. Not a bad way to start off this new year of life!

I can't wait to see what 35 brings.

Three Five

2011-09-01T06:29:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I will turn 35.

Wow.

I am officially in my mid-thirties. Ten years away from 25. Halfway to death.

Yikes.

However, as I was thinking about this and praying over my feelings on turning 35, God pointed something out. I, of course, wanted to wallow in my old lady status, but He forced me to see things differently.

Sometimes He can be so bossy.

He told me to look around. Really look around. Away from MY feelings of getting older, and into my life as it is.

And what I realized is that I may be turning 35, but I am exactly where I want to be.

Right here, in this time of my life, I am living a dream.

Two children. A man that I have been crazy in love with for nearly 10 years. An existence comfortable enough to bring contentment, but with enough rough edges to keep me changing and evolving.

I am comfortable in my own skin. I LIKE myself. I like who I am. My heart is nearly always in the right place. I try at all times to be kind. I love fiercely. But I have enough flaws to keep myself constantly trying to be better. I make HUGE mistakes, but I try to learn from them.

I am reaching a point of loving being healthy and eating right, and loving to exercise, but to also come to terms with my roundness. To accept that I am in this body that doesn't change. And that it is okay. This has been a huge life struggle, and I feel the battle just...ending. On my terms. And that feels awesome.

I am a mother. I work at it. I am not the best mom, but I am not the worst. My kids are happy. They love each other. My daughter is kind and compassionate and ohemgee dramatic. My son is...oh boy. He is awesome and busy and wild. And I love them more than I could have ever imagined. I never for one second take for granted their love for me. I know what that love costs them, and I will never fail to return it in spades.

My husband is my best friend. There is nothing I don't tell him and nothing I cannot say. We laugh to the point of peeing. He is my first thought when I am hurt or upset. He loves me and shelters me and has never once failed me. He is my soul mate. And, he is super hunky. :)

I have great friends. Awesome, loving, kind and giving friends. We laugh. We cry. We love each others kids. It is a huge blessing.

I have a family that I have created from scratch. Patched together and ragged, but still whole and perfect.

I am at a place that the 25 year old me never ever would have imagined. I think about that girl, lonely and sad under the Nebraska sky. I remember her crying herself to sleep, wondering if this was all life was. I remember the hopelessness and the bone deep feeling of being utterly trapped by circumstance. And if I could I would go back to that girl and whisper to her of this life that holds more riches and love than she ever could have imagined. I would tell her to just hold on.

So. Thirty-five. It is more than a number or an age. It is a place marker, where I can look back at my life and say- This, THIS is where my life turned from dream into reality. This is when I was living a life I did not deserve. It's where I take a step back and thank God for what I have been given. For the love He blesses me with. For the circle of people I get to go through life with.

Thirty five is awesome.

Journey

2011-08-27T12:27:00.000-07:00

Have you ever watched your children on a carousel? Watched their faces light up with joy while you stand aside and watch?

That's kind of like what parenting is like when you have not been parented. It's watching your children experience life in a way that you never have. It is being separated from them in something so basic and fundamental that it is the basis of your whole adult life.

In this house, and in our family, I sometimes feel very much the outsider. I am the only one here, in these walls, that does not know family as a safe place. I don't know mom or dad as a word of safety or shelter. I have never run to my parents for advice, for love, for strength. I envy them this feeling of a broad sense of love. Of a depth and breadth to the world of those who care deeply for you. They have so much more than I have ever had, and I don't begrudge them of it, but I can say that at times it makes me feel very much alone.

My mother's picture hangs on the wall. My daughter has no idea who she is. My father sits in a lonely nursing home. He's never met Sam, and Lily doesn't remember him. My communication with him is stilted and one sided.

My husband's parent's voices are as familiar in this house as my own. They call daily. The children know them, have spent time with them, and love them fiercely. And as my husband says, they are my family now. I believe that. But the knowledge does not heal.

I can't explain how I feel in the moments when Sam and Lily talk to their grandparents. I feel ashamed that mine cannot and will not do the same. I feel joy that my children are so loved. I feel small and pained and...broken. I feel pitiful, and hate myself for the feeling.

I don't want to be envious of what Mark and my children have. I want to be happy for them. And I am, in many ways. But sometimes it feels as if they are in a great boat leaving harbor, and I am skirting their path on the shore, waving and calling. We are all going the same direction, and to the same place, but having two very different experiences.

This nis a daily challenge for me- to parent in a way that I can be proud of. To give of myself in ways that I was never shown. I am making it up as I go along, with no road map and no manual. And I feel as if I have done a decent job muddling through most times.

But there are days like today. When the aftermath of a hurricane pulls through, and phone calls fly back and forth. None for me. And when the computer shows faces that smile and my children wave and sing and smile back- but none of those faces are my family. Days when I feel like the ground after the storm- wasted, littered, and overwhelmed.

Days when I put pen to paper to write a letter to my father, while the voices of my husband's parents call out through the phone into the walls of my house, striking me at just how different our experiences of life are and always will be.

So I will walk along the shore while those I love take a different journey, and see the way in a different light. But I will be grateful for the glimpses I get of their path, and of their lives with a circle of family much broader than my own. I will watch, I will call, I will wave, and I will try to be at peace with my viewpoint here, on a different land.

The Magic of Belief

2011-08-23T10:47:00.001-07:00

I watch my daughter's face light up as she sees magic. Her kind of magic- a princess castle poised against a blue sky, a mermaid she loves come to abrupt life, singing a song she knows by heart. I watch her face as she sees these things, things to her that are beyond imagining, things to me that are no secret. I know the force behind the magic, the very real human effort to make the unreal, real.

But she believes. In princesses. In a giant mouse that sings and dances. In characters that make no sense to my adult mind.

And I think about this magic. This created joy, this manufactured feeling. How do I get her face to light up this way at the idea of God? At the idea of Jesus, who saves and loves and gives?

How do I manufacture faith or belief? How do I teach her that the real magic of this world lies in the hands of One who loves her more than words can express?

How do I show her that the beauty of a tree in fall flourish is just as magical as a princess come to life?

How do I explain that the love she shows her brother is the extension of the love God puts into her tiny perfect soul?

It is the biggest mission of my life. It is the hardest as well.

I think about how I came to faith, and I cannot pinpoint the moment it crossed from being an idea to being a reality. I cannot find that moment when God's hand became so real to me I could feel it guiding me. It just...was. And still is.

I live my spiritual life quietly, praying in silence. I fold my hands and sit but rarely, instead carrying on a constant dialogue with God in my mind. I speak to Him as I fold laundry, as I cook, as I play with the kids. It is as it has always been, and I know no other way.

So how will she know? I want her to know. I want her to feel the peace and the fierce joy that comes with knowing you are more than just you. That you are deeply and intimately connected to a world that lies like a vast underground, deep and hidden, but very real. I want her to be rooted firmly into faith that quiets all of her ragged thoughts, and soothes all of her fears.

It is magic, this knowledge. It is beyond anything I could ever imagine. It is deeper and stronger than anything I could speak of. I want to give it to her more than anything else.

I have to rely on her ability to see clearly into me. Her perceptiveness is acute- she feels everything as if it was happening to herself. She sees into me and into others with a compassion that is sewn into her very soul. It is a gift she has been given, this ability to feel.

This is how I will show her what faith is. In the only way I can- with a deep trust and knowledge that I am passing on something intrinsic to her life- the ability to reach beyond herself. To know she never walks alone. To know she is responsible to be who God created her to be, in word and deed and action.

I can only show her with my own life what God can do. That He can take the broken and mend it stronger than before. That He can turn the world, the seasons, and at the same time, be a Father to us. That He is all, and everything. And He loves her more than I ever could.

Not one moment.

2011-08-18T06:08:00.000-07:00

I spent an evening last week talking with a neighbor. Neighbor doesn't really do the relationship justice, however. She is supposed to be in my life. Hand planted by the One who knows what I need, even when I don't.

She was determined to get my story. The whole story, warts and all. And so under a Carolina moon on a sweltering night, she got it.

And as I talked I felt the old feelings well up and spill over, like a wound reopened. They rose in my throat. They tingled through my hands and feet. They cut through all of the carefully cultivated and determined prayers I have said to secure them safely.

They were brought up from a deep ocean and thrown onto my shore. And as I looked at all of these things, the detritus of a life I never chose and a life that scarred me, I felt free.

Free.

Because I OWNED all of it. The pain and the wounds and the fury. The hurt and abandonments. I owned it all. I took it all in and wrenched out every bit of learning from it.

And I wouldn't change one moment. Not ONE.

God gave these things to me. He trusted me to walk through what others couldn't. He gave my soul into a life that would break others. He handed me these circumstances. He hand chose the people who would surround me. His choice.

And instead of feeling burdened, I feel privileged. I feel honored to carry these things. They have formed me. They have created a gratitude for the simplest of things that I never would have known before. They cut me deep, and then filled me to the brim with knowledge.

I have walked a lonely road at times. I have been sad and abandoned. I have been tossed away. I have been orphaned even when my parents walked this earth. But I have also been scooped up. I have been rescued. I have been held and loved. He hands picked people to show me what love is. He gave me amazing examples of His grace.

I have scars. But I also have joy. I have a life now I never could have predicted. I have a length and breadth of happiness I do not deserve, but that I treasure at every second.

And I have that all because of what came before.

I am stronger for my brokeness. I am healed even as I trace the scars of other's anger on my skin. I am grateful for the air in my lungs and the life in my body. I am honored to carry this precious pain, honored that He would see me as strong enough to bear it.

And I am a better person because of the worst that was done to me.

The answer

2011-08-10T07:32:00.000-07:00

"So you don't work?"

I am standing in the grocery line, watching my purchases be rung up while simultaneously keeping an eye on my kids in the cart when I am asked this question. I had been making small talk with the cashier.

I look up at her and wonder what to say.

Let's see.

So far today I have:

Gotten up at 6 AM

made a bottle

fed the dog

put in a load of laundry

emptied the dishwashed

gotten two children dressed

brushed three sets of teeth

scrubbed the countertops and kitchen sink

fed the kids breakfast

pinned a dress together, serged the seams

cleaned up breakfast

scrubbed the table

wrangled the kids into the playroom

brushed the dog

vaccuumed and mopped the floors

scrubbed the kids tub and sinks

settled 2.5 million toy disputes

broke up a fight over legos

planned dinner

showered

applied makeup while texting friends

answered e-mail

clipped coupons

made a grocery list while comparing coupons to grocery website

switched laundry

scrubbed toilets

kissed a boo boo

wrangled both kids into the car

got both kids out of the car and into the grocery cart

Held Sam and kept an eye on Lily while disenfecting cart

kept two kids from screaming through the grocery store

matched up coupons to purchases while keeping track of sippy cups, cookies, and grocery list

and successfully gotten to the checkout.

And it's only noon.

So, do I work?

Yes.

Do I love?

Yes.

So which is it? Work or love?

Both. But it can't be boxed into such small words. With every mundane task I an caring for some aspect of my family's life. With every shirt washed folded and put away, I am giving my family something clean to wear. With every meal made, I am nourishing them. With every stroke of the vaccum I am making their world cleaner. With every clipped coupon I am putting money into our bank account. With every dress/blanket/bag/bow created I am adding potential income to our budget.

So what is the definition of work? A paycheck? Or is it something more? Is it that a noon on a day like any other of my life I can look at the grocery cashier and say-

"No, I don't work outside the home. And I love my job."

Promise

2011-08-09T13:10:00.000-07:00

I've never had great luck with women friends. I have one best friend who has stuck by me through all of my nonsense (Hi April!), but as far as lifetime friendships with other women, nope. Not a one.

Then I had Lily.

Here I was, postpartum, feeling as if my life had at once ended, and at once just begun. I was worried and sleepless and overjoyed. My world had shrunk significantly and I spent alot of the day alone.

I was a mess. Seriously. Depressed and wondering why I was depressed. Isolated and unsure of how to reach out. Sad when I should be the most happy.

I took my baby girl to the park. I put her in a swing. And looked over to see a friendly face. Jody. Who would become my saving grace, my first real mommy friend, my coach, my cheerleader, and my hero. I met up with other moms, and learned alot about myself in the process.

The most valuable thing I learned? That I was loveable and likeable and good, just as I was. No gloss, no pretending. Just me.

I never experienced the sisterhood of female friends. Of MOMMY friends. Those who know exactly what you are going through and can sympathize.

And now, four years later, I am still learning just how much I need other women. To talk to, to spend time with. To hand my kids off to and to laugh at their craziness with. To talk breastfeeding and baby poo and emotions and talk shows. Craft projects and cooking and husbands.

I was talking to two of my mommy friends today. (Holla, Lisa and Lori) About the cattiness we had experienced with other women. About the hurt at being picked on or talked about. I've experienced deep hurt at the hands of other women, been gossiped about. Nothing hurts worse, I'm convinced because we are designed by God to need other women near us, especially in early motherhood.

After my friends and their babies left I sat here in the silence. I thought about what I could do to show God how much I value the strong, funny, and wonderful women he has brought into my life. I closed my eyes and asked for inspiration. Somethign I can make? Something I can say? Something I can do?

No.

Just a simple promise to all of my God given friends.

I will never hurt you intentionally. I will always strive to understand you. I will give you space when you need it, but I will NOT back off when you are hurting. I won't let you slip through the cracks or pretend things are fine when I know they aren't. I will treasure your friendship, protect you and defend you. I will never say anything behind your back that I would not say in your presence. I will not force my friendship on you if you pull away, but I will be here if you need me. I will give you anything I have, all the time, in any situation. I will be present in your life. I will love your children like my own. I will hold your heart as close and as tenderly as my own, and guard your feelings. I won't be like any other women that have hurt you. You can always trust me. I cannot say that things won't break between us, or that feelings won't be hurt. Life brings friction and circumstances that can cause pain. But I will always strive to mend it and make it stronger.

Will you make the same promise with me? To build up and encourage the women in your life? Will you promise to not gossip, to not hurt, to not wound with your words? Will you honor the friendships God gave you by treating them with the care He would?

It's time to stop tearing each other down and instead realize that we need each other. And we need each other strong and unwounded by gossip or words. Make the promise with me.

RISE ABOVE

2011-08-03T11:43:00.000-07:00

This post has been brewing for some time. It has been swirling in my head over and over. I wondered whether to share it, or just to write it out and keep it to myself. But then the Casey Anthony travesty happened, and it put a face to exactly what I was thinking.

People need to stop using their past to justify their current behavior.

I have seen it in every corner of my own life, excuses for drinking, excuses fo drug use, excuses upon excuses upon excuses. It is ridiculous and angers me greatly.

God gives us circumstances. We are placed in a life with a plan and a purpose. Every single act commited upon us, done to us, has been written and known. Every wound has already been created, even before it is rendered unto our soul or body. Our life is chosen, our days known.

What is the unknown is how we are to respond to it. We have free will, after all. We can choose our own behavior. We can choose to make stepping stones from the things that weigh us down, or simply lie down and be crushed. We choose.

We choose how we treat the others in our life. We choose to kill them with words. We choose to raise them up with prayer and encouragement. We choose to gossip. We choose to physically harm. Despite what we have been shown, we can still choose how to live.

I am tired of the excuses. I am tired of the explanations for cruelty and for harm to others. I am weary of the lack of responsibility.

You have been hurt. Okay. You have been molested or sexually assaulted. Okay. You have been abused and abandoned. Allright. You have been left behind, pushed aside. Fine.

Me too.

RISE ABOVE IT.

Choose to be MORE than what you were shown. Choose to be better than what you have seen, and more than what you have been given. Choose to be above your circumstance. Choose it. Choose the life you want. Choose the person you are. And own it.

Stop blaming. Stop hurting in the name of the past. Stop pointing fingers at others for things YOU have done. STOP.

Lean into God and His promises. You weren't given a perfect family on earth? Then lean into the perfect Father in heaven. You were hurt by somebody? Then lean into the One who sees all and more remarkably, heals all.

Healing is possible. It is hard. It is grueling. But it is possible. And more than that, it is freeing.

You don't have to sit with the pain. You don't have to have the double hurt of using the past against those you love. You can give it up to One who shoulders it for us.

Let Him take it. The pain, the injury. Let Him take the reasons to inflict hurt on others. Give it over and let it go. And go out and CHOSE who you want to be.

And live it.

She would have been 63

2011-07-27T17:03:00.000-07:00

Formless
weightless
and yet heavy
burning in me like poison
but giving me life
You
your memory
your example
your face
careworm and edged with grief
and your hands
dirt stained and broken
and your voice
velvet over glass
and your words
cutting and quick
I am
yours and yet not yours
I am mine
and yet not mine
and in ways I will never understand
I belong as much to the weight of memory
as I do to the burden of the present
and you live in me
and I love you
and I give you
with open hands
my forgiveness
I stand now in the curve of God's grace
I see you with the eyes of faith
and oh God if I could go back
and love you
I would
and if I could go back and take the words from my lips
I would
but I can't
and you are
my mother
and you are
my ghost
and my haunted dream
and my wasted hopes
and the face of my brokeness
and I love you
even when I don't want to
and I remember
even when I fight it
and so burden me
with your presence
and love me
from where you are
and I give you my children
and I share them with you
and I welcome you into this life I have made
and I ask you to forgive who I was
and across these two worlds
yours of ether
mine of substance
I ask for your hand
and I ask for your love
and I ask for you to just be
mine
like you couldn't be then
and I ask you to love me
here, now
like you never could
there, then
and I offer you again my wounded heart
this daughters soul
that longs
and reaches
across this broken space and time
for you
always

Happy Birthday, where you are, mama.

Lily

2011-07-26T19:52:00.000-07:00

I remember the moment my life changed, and all of the things that had once seemed real or important or big faded.

She was laid across my chest, ungently, and rubbed with a blanket as she lay there, pink and bellowing. Her cry was like a kittens, fierce and soft at once. The room was full of people, of color, of blurring faces and words tossed about.

I saw none of it. I heard none of it. My eyes were her eyes, my world the soft focus of her face.

I looked at the redeemer God had placed in my world and in my care. The one sent to give me purpose and fulfill my heart's aches and voids.

She was, and because she was, I became more than I was.

Her hand laid in mine that night, soft and sheltered in the blooodstained and curvy valleys of my own. Her fingernails no bigger than a pea, her feet smaller than my pinky. She was so small, so fragile, and at once so big in my life that she took the air from me.

And her eyes. Sloped upward away from her perfect blunted nose. Opening rarely in those first few days, but always on mine when they did. I saw her for the first time in those days, but I knew her forever.

This was what I had ached for, wished for, and dreamed of. She was the harbor to a storm tossed vessel. I found my counterpoint and my compass all at once, on her tiny body. I whispered how far I had come in her pink ear, curled like a perfect shell under my lips. I touched her eyes, her cheeks, her elbows and toes, marveling at the detail God gives.

He forgets nothing. No part of her body was immune to the perfection He gives.

She was so innocent and so vulnerable. And mine.

She was given to love, and to heal, and to raise me from what circumstance had taught me.

And now, now that sweet fragile being is still the focus of my life. Her voice and face my every waking thought.

Our days are layered now with tension, with negotiation, with arguments. She is 4. I am 34. And we both know what's right.

But the moments when she is laying across me, her head on my chest... when her hand curls into mine and I trace her fingertips, placing a kiss in each palm...when I whisper into her sleeping ear of how far we have come, and of what she saved me from...

These are the times I know we are just a breath away from that one small moment, precious and extraordinary only to me, when she was laid across my chest and we breathed the same air, and I looked at her and thought...

Yes, you are the one. I have missed you all my life. And now you are here.

My sweet Lily girl, love of my heart and soul. You were born to make me whole. You are loved beyond imagining. And you have raised me up so gently into this role of mother. You have blessed me. May I always bless you, too.

The Battle

2011-07-11T16:59:00.000-07:00

It's 10:12 AM. I am facing my nemesis across an island of green grass.

I stretch, pop my neck back and forth.

I do several jumping jacks. Okay, I do one. Okay, half of one.

I yell out "Let's go!!! C'mon, I'm not afraid!!"

I take a deep breath.

I am primed, ready for battle.

It glows, my nemesis. It gleams in the early morning light.

It thinks it's soooo tough. Soooo fancy.

It is the children's playground.

Yes, that's right. A playground. Swings, slides and the like.

Punk.

Yeah yeah, go ahead and laugh.

But there are a thousand booby traps there among the metal and mulch.

Okay, not a thousand. Like, 2300. Or 5. Yeah.

I'm gonna outline them for ya. Ready?

1. Cigarette butts.

Do you know how many times I have caught my child trying to eat one of these? Ew. Or, that one time that I found one IN HIS MOUTH? *shudder*
Please, for the love of God, I don't care if you smoke...really I don't. But can you do it somewhere other than where my filth magnet can get to your nasty cancer ridden butts? Huh? Every time we go I have the urge to mask my child like Hannibal Lechter.
Which may help me avoid booby trap number 2.

2. The other mommy.

Oh you know the one. The one who has her child covered in all natural sunscreen made by yeti's somewhere in the vast unknown, who's child only plays with wood toys, has never had a bite of sugar or processed food, and who is a genius, natch. You look at your own child, covered in aerosol sunscreen and a too small hat drinking lemonade from a Cars sippy cup and eating mulch and you feel, well...bad.

Or the ultra competitive mom. The one who's child has done more than yours could ever dream of. One thousand summer camps. College level art classes. They just stopped at the park on their way to tennis lessons, then on to violin. You look at her kid eating mulch with yours and you feel, well...a little smug.

Or the mom. Oh the mom. The one who's child knocks yours over, yells in her ear, throws sand and dirt, and tramples the smaller kids on his way to the slide. The one who calls gently after him, "Please don't push the little boys face into the dirt!" "Please don't throw yourself off the slide onto other people." "Please don't hit mommy!" and so on. You look at her child and feel...well, rage.

3. The public restrooms

Need I elaborate? Didn't think so.

4. The playground itself

Or as I like to call it, the maze of death. You watch your child go up with a gut wrenching wave of despair, and debate...Do I follow him up there or from down below? Do I try to keep him from falling or catch him when he does fall? How loud do I have to yell for him to hear me, really? I pretty sure I just bruised my larynx.

I spend the entire time he is meandering to the slide panicking. Why the heck do they have to have HUGE openings that kids can fall through? I just don't get it! What are they thinking when they plan these things? "Well look, maybe little Johnny might wanna slide down a pole like a fireman to break his legs!" "Maybe little Susie would enjoy smacking her head on every step of a ladder on her way down to the hard ground!" "Kids LOVE a trip to the germ ridden ER!"

I just don't get it. The playground is for children! Make it safe for children to play on, not for acrobats to frolic in. Common sense, playground maker people!

5.The "We are leaving!" meltdown.

It starts almost when we ge there.

"NowlistentomerightnowwearenotstayinglongandIwantnofits!!!"

Then you begin the countdown. "Ten minutes!" and so on. All the way down to one, at which time you have to do the chase. Like the one from Indiana Jones but more terrifying and painful. You know the one. Where you are chasing your child yelling "Come back here right now!!! Mommy said we have to go. Don't you dare go back up to the slide...Okay, slide one more time and we are leaving!" You wait at the bottom of the slide, thinking, aha!, I've got him trapped now. Then the little sucker sees your shadow and climbs back up.

Twenty minutes later you are dragging both of your filthy children from the park while one or the both of them does the spaghetti legs routine. You alternate between dragging one and carrying the other, but the car is far away and it's hot so you just drag them both. People stare. You get to the car, strap them in, and then cry a little on the bumper. Then you go to ChikFilA because you are a masochist and enjoy a lunch filled with whining and screaming.

So, what are your plans for today, my friend? Oh you WERE gonna take the kids to the playground. Ahem. Sorry about that. Perhaps the pool insead?

Things I have said today:

2011-07-06T15:57:00.001-07:00

"Lily, stop talking and eat." X 500 MILLION

"Seriously, Sam, your wee wee has a shelf life. You don't have to be all about handling it now."

"Lily, take my socks off right now!"

"Savannah, stop eating my socks."

"Sam, stop eating my socks!"

"Please don't put blueberries up your nose."

"Hold still while I get the blueberry out of your nose!!"

"How did you get a green bean in your ear?"

"Please stop rubbing your head over your high chair tray."

" STOP TALKING. I CAN'T HEAR MYSELF THINK!!!!"

"No you can't have candy. Because we are eating healthy. Because it's good for us. Because it is. Yes it is! Oh hell, have a dang sucker. Just be quiet."

"Sam, no." X 600 MILLION

"No, Sam didn't poop. It's dinner you smell."

"Just eat your fish. It's not spicy. No it's not!!!! Okay, drink some milk, the fish is too spicy to eat."

"Sam, don't hit your sister."

"Lily, stop aggravating Sam."

"For the love of God, hit him back then!"

"Where's mommy's rum?"

"I love you to the moon. Okay, fine, I love you to jupiter. Okay, to jupiter and back. Okay, forget I EVEN SAID ANYTHING!"

"No, you can't win at Candyland everytime. Because it's just not how things are. No I won't let you win. Because I said so."

"Just because your water doesn't have ice in it doesn't mean it's not fresh."

"No you can have a unicorn. Or a pony. Or a cat. Because I am allergic and will run away."

"I love you to jupiter, back, and down to china.Yes, China where Kai Lan lives. No I don't know where your Kailan cup is. No I won't trade it out for your princess cup. GO TO SLEEP!!!!!!"

His

2011-07-05T16:27:00.000-07:00

Who am I to deserve this?

To have this love, and this life, and this world that I could never have dreamed of?

To have carried 3 beautiful babies, two of whom I get to hold.

Who am I, to have love, a hand to hold, a life to share.

To laugh?

To have friendships that transcend the everyday, and reach into the beyond?

To look into my children's eyes and be thankful for their health.

Who am I?

And , more importantly, Who's?

And why does He deem me this worthy, of this life?

Oh Lord. Sweet Jesus. Loving God. My refuge. My Savior.

He spilled His blood for me. He gave His life for me. I think of Him on Calvary, his wounds spilling. His tears flowing.

But I also think of Him as I was created. I think of Him knowing my nature, and giving me this life, with all of the good and bad.

And I think of Him, watching me reach for Him. Watching me hold tight to the promise of love.

He is.

He loves.

He gives.

I have had it all right here in my hands. The best of life, the worst. The loneliness, the joy. I have watched miracles happen. I have walked the road that was dark and waited for dawn.

And here I am.

Proof that we are not the only ones who cling. He clings to us as well. He walks with us. He holds us. He loves us through all of the brokenness this world gives.

And He promises we walk none of it alone.

What a profound gift. To walk this world tethered to the One who created it. To see with our eyes His works. To hold the children he allows us to birth and care for.

To never be lonely.

So if you are reaching beyond your own means, if you are waiting for life, trust that He is there, reaching back to you.

Who am I? I am His.

Diving

2011-07-01T10:02:00.000-07:00

The air is always moving here, carrying sound, salt fragrance, cooking scents. The wind blows one direction and the next. There are people. Shouting, chatting, whispering. The speakers above the pool bar assault the air with a weird mix of music- from LL Cool J to Kenny Rogers.

The sun beats down mercilessly. The planes fly overhead in groups- small ones heading to other islands, larger commercial jets lifting nearly straight up to scale the mountains.

It is a joyous mix of sound, scent, and the heady feeling of having nothing to do but just this one thing- float, romp with the kids, nap in the sun.

We swim. And swim and swim. The kids screech and throw themselves in the water.

I break away and dive down deep.

And it all stops.

Noise becomes muted under the cupped blueness over me. The sun loses it's power. There is no scent. There is nothing but...peace.

And as I lie on the bottom, using my feet to keep myself still and feeling my body sink further and further toward a delicious lack of anything, God speaks.

This is what prayer should feel like.

A slip from this world to another, a passing through of all of the human things that occupy me.

A dive into God's presence, and resting there, open to it all.

This was so striking to me, this image. Because it can be so easy to be pulled to the surface into a world I am trying to shut out. Pulled up unwillingly into all of the human problems, small concerns, and aggravations of the day.

I go too easily back there. I am pulled too quickly away from the sacred spot that God occupies in my life- the small few minutes He wants me to give to Him, and the minutes I need. I rush to the surface within seconds to confront anything that interrupts my thoughts.

So what if I use this in my prayer life? What if I picture a great dive down, to the bottom of God's presence and to the stillness I crave, and the stillness that my soul needs to thrive in this world. A world I live and walk in, but a world I don't ultimately belong to?

So from now on I will picture the sun, the sand, the voices, the music, and the great sweeping dive beneath it all, into the cool shadowy blueness. Into the presence of love and grace and peace. The feeling of being held and taken away from the things of the world that distract from who I ultimately am.

Dive with me....

An Open Letter...

2011-06-22T11:33:00.001-07:00

To the dad at the Children's museum this morning:

I know you are busy. I know that you were probably on your phone for work purposes. You were undoubtedly typing on your blackberry to somebody or about something important.

But while you were doing that, while your eyes were on your phone and your mind was elsewhere, your son only had eyes for you. He sat and organized dinosaurs, painted a picture, and lined up legos...but his eyes were constantly shifting to you. His face was so open, so vulnerable in those moments. His mouth opened several times to say something, but then closed. His big beautiful eyes brimmed as he cast them back down.

And you didn't see any of it.

When he finally spoke, it was with a soft and cautious "Daddy?".

You didn't hear him, so he repeated himself.

You still didn't hear.

And when you finally noticed him, it was with a "Hum? Where do you want to go next?".

Without glancing up.

I watched him watch you as you walked away, vaguely leading him to a different corner of the museum while still looking at your phone. He scuffed his tennis shoe lightly on the floor, and then got up to follow you. When he looked back at me, I smiled slightly through my own tears.

I saw him. I saw his hurt at being ignored. I saw his sadness at not being able to share this place with you. I saw disappointment.

And it struck me to the core, because I have been you. I have been the parent who was too busy. I have been on the phone, on the computer, and in my head. I have looked at but not SEEN my children so many times. I have given them only a tenth of my attention because I had other things on my mind.

I have gone to bed at night and realized that I did not once sit down on the floor and play, or read a book, or play a game.

Because I was busy.

And I understand busy. We are adults. We make their world go around. We make the clothes appear, we cook the meals, we brush their hair, we strap them in their carseats.

I get it. I truly do. And I don't blame you. It's easy to put parenting on autopilot sometimes. You and I are a product of our times- it is easy now to be online in an instant, talk to somebody in a moment, look up something within a few minutes. It's easy to shoot off an e-mail or to send a text.

But at what cost?

When do we decided to put those things away and focus on the real, tangible people in our midst? When can we let go of the automatic need to be in the loop and connect ourselves to our kids without distractions? When can we look at them and put them first, even for only an hour? Just an hour of unfiltered, undistracted time.

I can tell you that I have spent the last few days spinning my wheels. Planning, organizing, errands. Busy busy busy. And I can also tell you that my children suffered for it.

That's why I was at the museum this morning, digging in the sand and bean table with my daughter, pretending I was T-Rex coming to ravage her pot and pan city. It's why I was dressed as a pirate giving a newscast. It's why I was doctoring bears and exploring magnets.

Because I have been there. I have been distracted and ignoring and brushing off. I am sure my children have been looking up at me like yours was...with sadness and tears, as I went on a bout a life I was showing them is more important than their feelings.

And I can tell you that I hope you, like me, gets a wake up call. Before your son is old enough to become angry and cold and harden his heart against the need of you.

So please, put down the phone. Just for an hour. Look into your boy's sweet baby browns and see him. Play with him. Show him he is more important than anything else in the world.

And I pray I can always remember to do the same.

Fathers Day 2011

2011-06-20T06:53:00.000-07:00

Do you have time for a story?

Good. Get some coffee. Wait. Too hot for coffee, to early for beer. So iced tea or diet Coke. I'll wait.

Ready?

There once was a girl. She lived in a small trailer next to her father's. The Nebraska sky cradled her home like cupped hands. The trains hollered through like thunder.

Her kitchen was small and sad. Her living room cramped with furniture she had collected in another life, with bigger walls and bigger dreams. With a bigger future. Now she sat in one corner of a couch meant for a family. She didn't allow herself to look at the places that should have been filled, jumped on, stained with milk and juice.

The bed was large and empty. The hallway rang with only her footsteps. Only her washcloth sat on the sink, only her towel draped on the door.

She sat on the porch her father built her. Watered her plants. Watched the dust rise and settle with each passing car.

And her heart bled with loneliness. Her mind was trapped by circumstance and the days spilled endlessly into another.

The future was not a future. Just days and days of waiting for something that never came.

Sadness made her heart heavy, regret filled her mouth with ashes.

And then.

Her name in his mouth was like music. His face when he looked at her like a lighthouse in a storm. His entire being, face, soul, voice...all of it was a perfect match to hers.

Love came again. When she had given up. It rushed through all the open portals of her life like seawater, burning away what had been. It washed away the old, and created the new.

He was a miracle to her. He held her hand and made her his wife. He gave her a family when she didn't know what that word meant.

He gave her time, and patience, and his shoulder and his love.
In time, he gave her babies.

And she watched him with them, his easy nature, his ability to care and love and give just as he had to her- without reservation or expectation.

He kissed them on their full round cheeks, put them to bed at night. He changed diapers and made meals and woke in the night to newborn cries, to toddler cries.

He gave, as his father had taught him to give. With everything. Nothing held back. Family is family. Blood is blood. And that is sacred.

He taught this girl what it meant to love without pain. That hurt was inevitable, but pain was not. That forgiveness and honest apologies are the currency of life. That love is not perfect or romantic, but strong and honest. That love means holding on and not letting go.

He held her babies in the palm of his hand. He carried them through the church after their baptism and communion. He handed his newborn son to his father, introducing him to his namesake.

He watched his daughter grow in loveliness. He blessed her beauty and kind heart.

And he gave this girl a chance to become what she was born to be- a mother, a wife. He helped her to settle all of the broken pieces in her life, and to learn that her heart was not ruined by what came before.

He healed her. He saved her. And he continues to be the best man she has ever and will ever know.

Happy Father's Day, Mark. I love you more than words can ever say. Thank you for my beautiful life.

Perspective

2011-06-14T19:19:00.000-07:00

I am feeling at once very blessed and very very heavy hearted. A boy in our neighborhood, one we just recently met and played with at the pool, has been diagnosed with a cancerous mass in his abdomen.

I heard the news while I watched my two kids play in the yard. It had been a long day and the kids were edgy and grumpy, making me the same.

And then I heard this, and none of it mattered anymore.

I have such a deep sadness and heaviness in my soul for this family, this mama, this sweet 3 year old little boy.

I am asking you to pray, to write his name on your hand, on a post it. To remember him and lift his name to heaven. To stand in the trenches with this family and intercede on his behalf.

His name is Sean. He is only three. Please pray.

Happy Pills

2011-06-14T12:24:00.001-07:00

Am I too honest here? Do I say too much? Do I give too much away?

Good.

Because I KNOW that I am saying and writing the things some people go through and never can put into words. Or don't have an outlet for. Or don't have supportive friends or family to rally around them when they are hurting.

I know myself. I would rather shut this blog down than pretend everything is okay when it's not.

So.

Here it is:

I have been on anti-anxiety meds for 4 years. Since Lily was 6 months old. I about lost my mind one night at 3 AM. I handed her to Mark, got in the car, and never intended on going back.

But I did go back. And the next day I saw my doctor. And got on the medication that changed my life. Literally. I was not the same person as I was before.

And in the past month I have been tapering off of these meds. Becuase I felt that they were keeping me from losing weight. And I felt, frankly, like I was weak for keeping on them.

I was 100% wrong, my friends.

I have felt, as the meds got less and less in my system, a huge weight being applied to my shoulders. Heavier and heavier, it made me stoop with the weight. It made my words negative, made my temper flare. It made me wake in the night in a sweat because I was afraid. Afraid of what, I have no idea. It made me pull over to the side of the road with both kids in the car and try to breathe. Panic and huge waves of adrenaline have gripped me at odd times and in odd places.

And worst of all, it sucked away my ability to write. I lost my words under this torrent of anxiety, and my creativity evaporated under the strain of holding it together emotionally.

All for the sake of a slimmer self.

I have felt myself drawing in like a turtle to a shell. Pulling away, having less and less to say. Negative thoughts and negative words and paralyzing fear.

And as much as I feel that it is weakness to be on these drugs, I also know that I NEED them. My body needs them. I am lacking in a fundamental body chemistry. This fills the void.

And after yesterday, I have come to a conclusion.

I'D RATHER BE FAT AND HAPPY.

Go ahead and laugh. I did when I realized this. I laughed today talking with my doctor about it.

I laughed. Real laughter. Something I haven't done in a few weeks.

In the end, the decision on this medication change was taken out of my hands. I cannot function well without it. And I have to be okay with that.

And why am I telling you all of this? Why am I admitting this weakness? Because you may be in the same boat. You may be hiding the fact that you need meds. And that's okay. I get it. But you have no reason to be ashamed.

It is what it is. And I am better and stronger medicated than not. I am fuller and happier and more joyful. I am less weighed down by the world, and my patience becomes limitless.

And I can write.

So here's to medication. Necessary, needed medication. And to those of us strong enough to admit we need it, and to ask for help.

Marked

2011-06-13T10:58:00.000-07:00

It began with a flare of temper, a whine, words thrown out of an unkind heart, pressed through lips set in anger.

It began with me being pressed for patience and time, and he wanting what she wants and whining for it, then sassing and complaining for it.

And it ended with my hand reaching out to pop the sassy mouth, to get the attention, to display the end of my patience. It ended with a sound smack to the bottom and turning her to face me.

And then I saw it, the mark.

On her lip. Cherry red, beginning to swell, with the slightest bead of blood.

She reached up to wipe it away, this blood, and her tears spilled over her hand.

And blooming like a flower into my mind came a thousand memories. A pandoras box of ghosts set loose in my heart.

I made my child bleed. With my hand.

Who am I? Who is this person that would do this? What monster has sprung from me without me even knowing, without me being vigilant enough to see it coming?

God help me.

Not one second passed from me seeing that I had hurt her to scooping her up and apologizing, sobbing over her little head, kissing her a million times.

She cried with me, all the while telling ME not to cry.

"It's okay Mommy. I still love you. Don't cry. Don't cry." thru tears.

I don't deserve a child this good, this loving, this forgiving.

So.

There it is.

Proof that vigilance against what you have known is necessary. That becoming complacent and thinking that you would never, could never, aren't capable of hurting as you were hurt just isn't true. Because it creeps in when your mind is blurred with anger and aggravation. It does not lie dormant.

I made a mistake, one that I vowed to try never to make the moment I saw her sweet face. To never intentionally hurt her. Discipline, yes. Hurt, no.

I can't take it back. I can say that I did everything possible to make amends, to help her to know that I made a mistake and that I wouldn't do it again.

Right now she is upstairs playing. She has not mentioned it since this morning. Mark assures me she is not scarred, something I cannot accurately gauge myself. Because I am as scarred by the small mark on her upper lip as I am by the river of marks on my own body...the circular cigarette burns, the drawn and puckered lines from glass and metal.

I guess we are all marked in some way. Inside or out, we all carry the past on our skin or our soul.

Caught

2011-06-02T09:18:00.000-07:00

I am frozen here. Caught in my own web.

Caught in the thought that what I look like is as important as WHAT I AM.

No, read that again. Because I had an epiphany just writing it.

What I look like is not what I am.

It is not my soul, which is good.

It is not my heart, which is giving.

It is not my spirit which is loving.

It is not who I am.

It is, simply, a vehicle for my spirit. For the substance God gave to me- my essence and my soul. It is a transporter only.

Yes, it is my responsibility to keep it honed to do God's work. He wants us to have health.

But he also wants us to look at ourselves and say "This is not all there is."

And I am not my face, or my belly, or my thighs.

I am this soul that comes here with treas and pours blood onto page.

I am the one who holds the hand, who lifts the head, and who loves without ceasing.

I am the one that God created. Every inch of skin he knew. Every battle He chose for me.

And who is to say this battle is not my path to glory?

That winning, not over my flesh, but over the spirit that cries out that the flesh is important is my battle?

The voice that says that everything about me is good but this one thing...well let me put that voice on notice:

I REFUSE TO LISTEN TO YOUR LIES.

I am this soul. I am worthy. I am good. And I am a creation of One who loves and DOESN'T MAKE MISTAKES.

This voice that cries out when I look in the mirror, this nagging nasty overbloated self important voice that tells me that I am not enough:

That voice can be silent. Forever.

I WILL NOT GIVE UP. I WILL NOT GIVE IN.

I am weary. I am struggling. But my God is bigger than anything I can say about myself.

And He is here, and He is who I chose to listen to.

Sunday morning...

2011-05-29T03:38:00.000-07:00

Screeching lifts me from my sleep/coma.

"Daaaaadeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Daaaaaaaaaaaadeeeeeeeeeeee. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeleeeeeeeeee."

I push Mark with my foot. He grunts, farts, and rolls over.

"Mark. The house is on fire."

"Mmmmmfrrmmmmmmmmm. Hot wings. Mmmmmmphrmmmp."

I roll my eyes, push him again with my foot.

"Daaaaaaaadeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!Eeeeeeeeeeeleeeeeeeee!!!!"

(translation: Daddy, Lily. Dude, I totally pushed you out with your gigantic head and NO WORKING EPIDURAL. Throw me a bone and call ME for once, huh?)

"Daaaaaaaadeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!"

Damn.

I get up, yank my hair into a bun, and stuff my glasses onto my face. I squint at the clock.

5:55.

What the?

I mean, really, son? Really? Is this who you are? Waking your mother up at 5:55 am?

I stumble to the kitchen and start the coffeemaker.

Yes, I started the coffeemaker before I made his bottle. I have standards, yo. Mama and coffee go together like cheeseburgers and peanut butter. And also, the coffeemaker makes a huge grinding noise that scares the little tyrant and I was feeling a bit hacked off. So, there. I am vindictive at 5 am. Who knew?

Warm the milk for the little creature, stumble into his room. Realize the bottle is leaking. Say things that are definitively inappropriate at 5 am on a Sunday. (my apologies, God- but it's 5 am. I mean, can you believe this child?)

Refill a new bottle.

"Daaaaadeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!" Ummmmm hello, breasts and womb. One who carried you and pushed you out. Nursed your little early teething self. Can I get a token mama?

"DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADEEEEEEEEE. Eeeeeeleeee."

Bring the bottle in, hand it over. Carry him to the changing table while juggling child, bottle, woobie, and paci. Making sure the flow of milk is constant or the foot kicking screamfest begins and I will so drop you, son, if you kick me in the baby maker again. I will SO do it. Don't test me.

He kicks me anyway. I don't drop him.

Restraint ya'll. It's a gift.

Peel off the pee wet pjs, change the 40 lb diaper. Powder, desitin, tummy rubs and head kisses. Cause he's a menace and it's 5 am, but I still love him a little too much to be healthy.

Realize that I have to pee. LIKERIGHTNOWRIGHTNOWRUNRUNRUN.

Lay him back in bed with the bottle ( shutty, dentists, I know) and high foot it to the bathroom while whimpering "Ohboyohboynotgonnamakeitkidruinedmypeeholdingin muscleswhatarethosecalledoooooooocoffeeisready!"

Focus. Another gift.

Pee. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh.

Glace lovingly at the coffeepot on the way back to the tyrants room/ Maybe make out with it just for a minute.

"You complete me, Cuisinart."

"You had me at self grinding."

Walk into the tyrants room. Prepare bright mommy smile/one day you will pay for making me get up this early grimace.

To see that he is asleep.

Wha?

Oh no he din't.

And I can't even go back to sleep cause once my warm nether regions hit the cold toilet seat that's it, sister. I'm up. Cold toilet seat=coffee soon. Anybody knows that.

He looks so cute when he is sleeping. I have the distinct urge to yell "Saaaaaaaameeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!" in his face. But I won't. Cause of the restraint thing. Be envious of my will power.

But I won't say I didn't turn the coffee grinder on just one more time.

Mmmmmmmm coffee.

Brooklyn "InDaHouse" Said- 5.21.11

2011-05-21T13:41:00.000-07:00

To say this is bittersweet is an understatement.

This morning we put our dog, Brooklyn, to sleep.

She was sick. She wasn't eating well. And this morning she woke up panting. Turns out her lymph nodes were so swollen she couldn't breathe.

We knew she had lymphoma. She was diagnosed in Sept of last year. But still, this was sudden and shocking.

Anyone who knows me knows I had a love/hate relationship with my dog. She was a constant whiner, a constant presence of stressed out energy. She was perpetually unhappy and rarely affectionate.

But she was a helluva protector. And she LOVED my babies. And I loved the security she gave me, and th presence she offered me.

She was fierce. She was strong. And now, within a few moments, she is gone.

Her body was worn out, and I knew it. I knew she wasn't doing well. And this morning I told Mark with a sudden and horrible certainty that I knew she wasn't going to come back from her vet's appt.

I was right. I've never wanted to be more wrong.

I want to give her a proper eulogy here. I want to say she was a happy and sweet soul. But she wasn't. She was a horrible creature, but I loved her dearly. She protected me for 8 years. She watched over my babies for 4. She slept, tucked against my growing belly through both pregnancies, and laid stone still and warm againt my back when I lost Joshua.

She aggravated the hell outta me. She tested my every reserve of patience. Sometimes I wanted to open the door and let her go. Sometimes I wanted to make her into stew.

But I always loved her.

And now that fierce soul is in heaven. I am sure she is whining at God's feet, begging him for a piece of steak or a biscuit. She is maybe scratching at the back door and looking at Him like "Ummmmmm hello, service! Don't you know how important I am??"

But I have no doubt that she is there.

And in the end, it was me who held her while she went. The one who always had such a contentious relationship with her held her sweet head and kissed her warm ears and told her over and over how much I loved her. I whispered how much I would miss her. I bathed her face in tears and let her go to God. I watched as her face fell into lines of peace, and her breath stilled. I listened as that big fierce heart trickled out.

We should all go this way- in the arms of somebody who loves us, hearing how much we will be missed and how loved we are. An easy slip into the next world, from one set of arms to another.

Dear Brooklyn,

You will be missed. (Yes, even by me.) You have already left a void so great we cannot see how it will be filled. I am carrying around your picture and crying. (Yes, me) I love you and I hope that right now you are eating steak and barking as loud as you want. I hope you are chasing the FedEX man, and that you catch him. But mostly I hope you are lying in the sunshine and the grass, looking up to the sky and breathing deeply, just like you did here at home. Tell Beau and Joshua and my mom I love them.

I will see you someday, my horrible creature.

Love,
Mom

I am a Christian

2011-05-16T11:24:00.000-07:00

I am a Christian. I don't have all of the answers. I don't know why God creates us how he does. But this is what I believe.

Being gay is not wrong. It is not a choice. It is as deep in the DNA as eye color or hair color.

I don't think gays are sinning. I don't KNOW if they are. The only person's sins I know are my own.

God taught me to love. He loved me despite my sins. And I do the for my fellow man- whether they are gay or straight.

I think gay people should be allowed to marry.

I think gay people should have children.

I don't think gay people should be discriminated against, harassed, or hurt for who they love.

I believe with everything in my body that God loves us ALL. That He sees all and knows all and loves us despite it.

That He does NOT condemn anyone. And that I should follow His example.

Why am I writing this? Why am I risking offending many who read my blog and have different views?

Because I should.

Because too many claim to love God on one hand, and on the other condemn those He created.

And I hate being pigeonholed. I hate the fact that the word christian has come to be synonymous with "anti-gay".

That the God I love has been painted with such small strokes as to seem as if He can't accept and love everyone.

And that we as Christians cannot step up and follow His example.

IT IS NOT OUR JOB TO KNOW WHO IS SINNING. It is not our job to condemn.

It is our job to love, to give, to help.

It is our job to be His hands and feet on this earth.

NOTHING MORE.

And you can't get into the trenches and help those who need it if you are too busy pointing fingers at everyone you feel falls short, can you?

I am a Christian. And this is what I believe.

*You may have noticed I disabled comments on this post. I am not interested, even remotely, in hearing any dissenting opinions or having scripture thrown at me. This is what I believe, and I won't apologize or back down. Period.*

Truth

2011-05-10T15:32:00.000-07:00

I am writing this on the floor of my closet.

Why?

It's a really long story.

I am sad. And lost. A humbled. And...well, mostly sad.

And it's for a stupid, vain, and ultimately nonsensical reason.

I am laying here looking at racks of clothing I have bought, hoping they would make me look like somebody else.

Somebody skinnier.

There, I said it.

I hate my body.

There, I said that.

And it's a huge, mountainous struggle.

This is MY thing. My something. My burden and my pain.

The struggle is that I KNOW that God loves me. And that I love Him, so very very much. I know He created me. I know that I live to make Him proud, and by constantly hating myself, I am crushing Him.

Not to mention how it affects my family. My relationship with Mark. With my kids.

I am hurting over something so silly and vain, and I truly hate myself for it.

But there it is.

So.

I want to put on a brave face and say to everyone- "Hey, I will get through this!!! It doesn't hurt that bad! I'm okay."

And I probably will say it. But I don't mean it.

And I want to pretend I am okay with myself ...with my big belly and legs.

But I'm not.

And I have worked damn hard to change it all. I cannot eat any less. I cannot exercise any more. I can't. I have done it all.

So, I guess what I am doing here, in my closet, is grieving.

Grieving for the girl who bought these clothes thinking they would give her confidence.

Mourning for the girl who stands in this closet most days and feels like she is carrying a boulder on her back.

Thinking of the girl that tugs at her clothes, that sucks in her stomach, that hides behind long sleeves and jeans.

For the girl who has done this for 24 years, with hope that one day it would change.

And the girl that knows, right in this moment, that it WILL NOT.

I've exhausted my options. I have prayed my heart out. I have worked and worked and worked.

And it has led to this- sobbing in my closet in my workout clothes, looking at all of my hopes hanging from clothing racks.

I will not ever lose weight.

I will not ever slim down.

But.

I can be strong.

I can be healthy.

And I can try to accept this body God created for me.

Because if I only know one thing right now, it's that God doesn't make mistakes.

And as much as I long to look how I feel- strong, agile, and healthy- I just...don't.

So, acceptance.

Trusting God.

Tomorrow will come, and I will continue to work out, eat well, and push through.

But tonight, my friends, I gotta be honest.

Tonight it's me, my closet, and my tears.

Mother's Day

2011-05-08T16:37:00.000-07:00

Mother's Day.

I used to dread this day.

And then, like tide over sand, God washed the old away and made everything new.

Where there was sadness, there is now great joy.

Where there was loneliness, companionship.

Where there was anger, now there is contentment.

Where there was a holding on to hurt, there is a letting go.

And the letting go, is just bliss.

Today is about my babies.

Today is about family.

Today is about celebrating the women who have stepped INTO my life instead of stepping away.

And it is so beautiful.

I looked through Lily's newborn clothes today. All of the little, all of the pink, all of the memories flooded me with such joy.

And also the knowledge of just how far we have come, she and I.

From a tiny newborn fighting for strength to this sweet spitfire of a girl.

A girl with her own voice, and her own spirit.

And me. A mother of two on this earth, learning that motherhood is so much more than I ever thought it could be.

Infinitely harder.

Infinitely sweeter.

It has broken me, mended me, and broken me again.

It has opened my heart to such a degree that I cannot close it again. Not to my children, not to the world.

Made me softer to all things, more compassionate at all times.

Made me love deeper. Made me hurt worse than any other pain.

I believe in something bigger than myself- in family and love that can and will not be broken.

I believe in all of the true things, the lasting things, and the God given things.

I believe in my abilities as a mother and as a woman.

And I also believe and know that my children will never know what I did.

They will know love and devotion that does not waver. They will know loyalty that will not turn away, ever.

They will know love that does not ever give up. Ever.

Life is sweet. Life is good.

And God has made it all possible.

Happy Mother's day.

Redeemed

2011-05-04T09:45:00.000-07:00

My facebook friends status said simply:

"i serve a God that has come to set the captives free."

I read it. I re-read it. I choked up. I looked at it at least 10 times.

And every time I came back to it I felt a pull, a deeper meaning that was trying to wind around my heart. I kept thinking of these words, over and over.

Today I was driving Lily to school and those words flashed in my head again. Two days of this carousel going around my mind and I was about to come unglued.

"Lord, please just tell me what this means? Please tell me why this is so important that I can't get it out of my head?"

And my mother's face flashed in front of me, clear as day.

My mother.

My mother was a captive.

Captive to her own mind, which drove her to drink, to pursue men. Which kept her from ever caring for me like she should have. Which kept her from knowing where I was for years. Her own mind imprisoned her as surely as iron rails.

She couldn't love. She couldn't care. She couldn't function.

Severely bi-polar people cannot function unless they are medicated. Medication from a knowledgeable doctor, or self medication in the form of alcohol, drugs, and sex.

My mother was never diagnosed until she was terminal with cancer. She was then put on lithium. She was normal. She wanted to mend broken-ness. She wanted to live.

And then, she died.

Captive to a body riddled with cancer, even though her mind had finally been freed.

I used to be angry with God for those last few months. When she reached out to me. When she wrote to me, sent me money to visit. Begged me to come.

I was too angry then. Young and stupid. I didn't want to forgive her. I didn't want to mend anything. My heart was blackened and stilled with anger.

Captive, if you will. Imprisoned by unforgiveness and rage.

And so she died in a strangers house, in a strangers bed, with no blood family around.

Freed from a body of pain, and a mind of torture.

A captive set free.

He set her free from herself, from the bondage of mental illness and cancer. He resurrected her to Him, whole and without blemish. Without sickness or sadness or regret.

She was restored. She lives, even now. She was set free.

And today, I realized, so was I.

I was set free from the worry of where she was, and the pain of separation from her. I was freed from her presence here on earth, and the chaos she always came with. I was set free from obligation to her.

I was freed to forgive her.

And today, I also realized she will be RESTORED to me.

One day, I will walk into the gates of heaven. And she will be there. And all of the bitterness will be washed away with the redemption of Christ's love.

The moment she died, she was free.

And so was I.

I serve a God who came to set captives free.

Isaiah 49:

8 This is what the LORD says:
“In the time of my favor I will answer you,
and in the day of salvation I will help you;
I will keep you and will make you
to be a covenant for the people,
to restore the land
and to reassign its desolate inheritances,
9 to say to the captives, ‘Come out,’
and to those in darkness, ‘Be free!’

I ran.

2011-05-03T07:48:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went for what I thought was a walk. I was praying as I usually do as Sam chattered from the stroller. Then:

"Why don't you run?"

Clear as day. I inside my head. Along with a compelling need to do as I was asked.

So I did.

I jogged until my breath was squeezed from my lungs. Then I walked. Then the voice, again:

"Why don't you run?"

I bet you can guess what I did then. I jogged some more. Then walked.

And so on.

And I made it 4.5 miles in 70 minutes. I can hear all of you runners making a little joke in your head. Yeah, I know...it's slow. Turtle time.

But for me, it was a huge victory. I actually jogged.

The feeling was one of exhiliration. I didn't die. I wasn't even damaged or injured.

And I felt incredible.

And this morning, I did it again.

This time I started out jogging, taking only a few breaks to walk.

Everytime I wanted to give up, I got strength to go a little bit further. To push a little bit longer. To breathe deeper and dig deeper.

And I did 4.5 miles in 50 minutes.

50 MINUTES!

THAT JUST HAPPENED!

I sat down afterward as Sam snoozed in the stroller. I sat in the sun on a bench overlooking the pond, and I cried. I called out to God in a voice filled with wonder and gratitude.

"Lord, I ran!"

"I know."

"No really, Lord...I RAN! For 4.5 miles. Just like I had prayed for for so long!"

"Remember, your dreams are MY dreams."

And then I just cried harder.

I doubted myself, and I doubted my God. I was ashamed of this body He gave me. I cursed it.

And then, this body carried me into a run.

This body carried me through miles. My lungs stretched to accomadate my drive, my heart beat hard and true to take me father than I thought possible. My legs did not tire. I did not collapse.

I ran. I ran into the dream that I had had for so long. And God ran beside me, step for step.

It's not over.

2011-05-02T05:55:00.000-07:00

Mark and I woke up to the news that Bin Laden is dead.

I was immediately elated. And just after, stricken with guilt for being elated.

After all, I am a child of God. And God does not celebrate over death of an enemy.

However.

Evil has lost a figurehead this day. Evil has been defeated in this small way.

Justice, after 10 years. Or is it?

Is it justice that this evil evil man has been shot in the head when 3000 of our fellow Americans died a fiery and terrible death?

Is it justice that he died quickly and had a burial in the Islamic custom when so many of our people were never recovered? And so many of our military have given their blood and lives to find him?

Is that justice? A quick death?

No.

But it is what is. And evil is less powerful today than yesterday.

I am not celebrating death today. I am celebrating that evil has been trumped in this small way on this day. That our country somehow has a bit more peace knowing this monster is gone.

I am celebrating our military's patience and dedication to hunting this man down.

I am celebrating that our memory is long and our patience more so, and that we REMEMBER what this man did, and that we were relentless in finding him.

I am celebrating that the evil that brought down the towers has lost their figurehead.

But I know it's not over.

Far from it.

This is good and evil. This is predicted and known.

In a way, it is just beginning. Not ending.

So today we clelebrate the defeat of evil. And tomorrow we get back to the buisness of rooting it out and destroying it.

Yes, this is a rant.

2011-04-29T13:19:00.000-07:00

I am tired of being fat.

I am tired of pulling my shirt down, my pants up. I am tired of hiding myself.

I am so weary of being self concious. So, so weary.

I am tired of worrying my husband will become disgusted with me.

I am tired of worrying my kids will get teased for having a fat mom.

I am just so....tired of it all.

I am constantly wondering how fat I look. When I sit this way, do I look fatter? Am I disgusting in this swimsuit?

Why the hell do I do this to myself?

I don't have an answer. I really don't.

I broke down last night. Tears flowed over this whole struggle. I sobbed over this body I am trapped in.

And I am trapped. I feel powerless.

I feel ugly and disgusting.

And I try. God knows I do. Exercise, eat well, and the weight comes off, right?

Not for me. Never for me.

Mark says the things that hurt, but are true- "Maybe you will never be able to lose it. Maybe you can't."

And he also says "It is so hard to see you punish yourself."

I agree with him, on both counts.

This is something I have struggled with for 24 years. I have spent countless hours hating myself.

And I truly don't know why.

Am I truly this vain?

Do I truly think how I look matters this much?

Yes. And no.

I don't know.

We all have something, right?

But this something colors every interaction I make, every decision I make, everything.

I will never wear a cute sundress without being self concious.

I will never love how I look in a swimsuit.

Do I believe I have worth...yes.

Do I also believe when somebody looks at me they see laziness, gluttony?

Yes.

My body says something that is not true- that I am a weak person. I hate that.

And right now, I don't have any answers.

I want to at least be peaceful with myself.

I want to not struggle. I want to like myself.

And I do. Like myself. I like the inside. I like my heart and soul. I like mySELF. I like ME.

I just don't like the way I look.

So do I make peace with it?

And if so,how?

Can I leave it behind after this decades long struggle?

I just don't know.

The Bitterness of the Sweet

2011-04-27T09:52:00.000-07:00

I have had a long love affair with sugar.

Looooong.

Epic, if you will.

Sugar is tangled up with alot of other less than sweet things in my past. It was, and still is a total comfort to me. A crutch.

Not to sound cliche, but I eat my pain. I cover things up with food. The sweeter and starchier the better. Had a bad day= eat some chocolate. Riding the mothership to PMSPlanet= M&M's and soda. Anything really. Any excuse.

And I hate this about myself. I am weak. And my weakness is food. It is my drug of choice, and always has been.

I was a chunky kid, and I never truly leaned out like most people do. Did that have to do with the steady stream of candy and ice cream? Heck yes.

Add to all that a childhood filled to the brim with chaos and stress and you got... well, me. Overcompensating with food. Dealing with a huge amount of belly fat that no amount of exercise diminishes.

I eat healthy, I exercise, and I do very well for a few weeks. And then I fall off the wagon into a pile of jellybeans and dat's it. Back on the sugar and back on the pounds.

I don't know why this is important today, but it just is. I need help to break this cycle, but damned if I know how. It's not as simple as saying "Don't eat sugar." If it was, I would be 90 lbs. It's way more tangled and complex. And I can't explain it.

I don't want to be thin. Truly, I don't. I just want to be fit. I want to be healthy. I want to live to 100 years old to annoy my children. And I can't be who I want to be when I have this addiction.

And I don't really have a point. Or maybe I do- I need help! I need suggestions and ideas and prayer. I need to know I am not alone in this- is anyone else struggling? Because I feel alone in this- and I feel really weak.

So friends....anyone? Anything? Beuler? Beuler?

Halfway/ All the Way

2011-04-26T15:40:00.001-07:00

Today my hormones are all over the place. I am a mess of teary-ness and snappy-ness and a little mean-ness. I am a hot mess, by all accounts. I have barred myself in my bedroom with salty snacks and soda and I am writing from a place of tornado-ish feelings.

I am unsettled in my soul. I am feeling as if I don't know how to do anything well. Oh I can do anything halfway good. I can halfway clean before getting called away. I can halfway play with the kids before I need to make dinner. I can halfway talk to my husband before real life intrudes. But I can't do anything ALL the way, because I am constantly having to help others do their stuff all the way.

I know this makes very little sense.

Or maybe it does, to you. Maybe you are in this inbetween space of having to do most things halfway in order to do things all the way for your kids. Maybe you are sitting in a cluttered dirty house, but your baby is well fed and nestled to your neck for a nap. Maybe you are in the midst of unpacking from a trip and have 3000 loads of laundry to do. Maybe you are just overwhelmed for no reason, like me.

I am restless in my skin. I am wanting to be so much more than I am now. More than a housewife and a mom. More than just this person in this skin. More. But this is not the season of my life for that. This is the season of caring for others, giving over to others my all...even if it means I am lost a bit in the meantime.

These days won't last forever. There will soon ebe a time of no diapers, no endless cooking/cleaning up/cooking. They will not seek me just when I sit down. They will not seek me at all, in time.

So Lord, let me be content to set aside myself. Set aside my chores and need for control. Let me be with them in this moment when their cheeks are sweet with the smell of sunshine, when their hair smells of baby shampoo. Let me watch as they light up when they are chased, as they giggle so hard they fall down.

Let me be a halfway cook, housecleaner, laundress. Let me be halfway in the things that don't matter and won't change with time. But Lord please let me be an all the way mom and wife, right here, right now. While it counts.

Women need Women

2011-04-20T18:41:00.001-07:00

Women need each other, on a basic, primal level. Our society does not lead us to believe that this is true- but it is. We need women in all of our stages of life- childhood, adulthood, mommyhood and golden years. We need friendships that are comfortable, with no demands or obligations.

We need other women to help us care for our children. We need other women to love our children, and to open up a different world of nurturing to them. We need female companionship.

We need a tribe.

In this stage of my life, I need a mommy tribe. Someone to compare notes with, to sit with in silence. To have the deep discussions with, and to laugh through tears with.

Women can have some of their deepest and profoud relationships with each other. Deep and lasting bonds that transcend all of life's ups and downs. Friendships that stretch and allow growth. Friendship that says the hard things, that supports, that holds the hand that is empty, that shoulders the burden. Friends that stay if the man doesn't, and linger after the children are grown.

The world will tell you this isn't true. That women are catty, nasty. That they are all gossips and cannot be trusted. But the world is wrong.

I spent tonight at a table with a wonderful group of ladies. I sat next to a friend, somebody I admire and think the world of. Somebody I always felt like I would have time to get to know better.

Time ran out. She is moving away, and it breaks my heart just a little bit. Sitting with her tonight and talking with her about the things that really matter, the deep down heart issues, I felt a deep regret that I hadn't known her more, spent more time with her, gotten to know her better. Because I felt that split second feeling of deja vu that you get only with those people who truly see you. A feeling of being known on a core level.

She is part of my tribe, my heart family, and I didn't appreciate it enough. I didn't see it as clearly as I should, being so insulated and focused on my own little world.

And now the chance has passed, and I will miss her so much more, because I realize what I am losing.

It will never be easy for me to trust other women. It is an effort to be vulnerable and to put my sappy self out there. It's scary to say all of the things that come to mind, and to go beneath the surface to the deep heart issues we all have. But I will, no matter what. Because I need to see myself reflected back in other women, other mothers. I need to see the flicker of recognition when somebody understands something I am grappling with. I need other women to help me walk through this life. Or to keep me from selling my children. Either/or.

To my sweet friend moving so far away...you said tonight that you thought I had a gift with writing, that you wished you had a gift like that. I held back from saying what I was thinking, and I shouldn't have. You have a gift of far more importance than putting words on a page. You SEE people. You LISTEN. And whenever I talk with you or see you, you make me feel cared for. Nobody on earth will ever forget how you make them feel, and in that, my dear sweet friend, YOU have an amazing gift. And you will be very very missed.

Dear Lily...

2011-04-14T18:08:00.000-07:00

Dear Lily,

I was thinking today about when I might die. Yeah I know, that's a shocking way to start a letter. Sorry.

But there are things I want you to know. One of my greatest fears is that I wont have time to tell you all the things I want to. Of course a hundred years could never be enough to tell you the biggest thing of are- YOU ARE LOVED. More than I can convey with words or actions. Never ever forget how precious and special you are.

So, in no particular order, are the more important things I can think of.

1. Don't wear to much makeup. Mascara, a little blush, and a touch of lipstick. And don't overpluck your eyebrows. Trust me.

2. Wear sunscreen. A tan is beautiful, but a burn is not. And wrinkles certainly aren't.

3. Love your body enough to feed it well, to exercise and tone it. To create strength.

4. Always err on the side of kindness. Every person you meet has a battle they are fighting. Every person has sadness. Kindness is never lost on any person.

5. Be kind, but don't be a doormat.

6. Love those around you for who they are- children of God. It's not up to you to change anyone. Every person is who they are for a reason. Love them enough to let them be.

7. Family is everything, Lily. Everything. Family outlasts friendships, love, and hurt. Family is acceptance and unending love. Never take for granted that you are treasured.

8. You are responsible to love others as you are loved. When you see pain or suffering, you are responsible to help.

9. Helping is sometimes sitting in silence. In wiping tears. In listening. In being present for somebody you care for.

10. Never ever lose that loving spirit. You are so sweet and so maternal. It may lead you to get hurt, because people will take advantage of your giving nature. But don't let that stop you. Your loving spirit is the light of God.

11. Do your homework. Be responsible. But also reach for the stars, my love. Dream.

12. Dress modestly. Don't let your appearance make anyone doubt your intelligence.

13. When in doubt, turn to God. Pray for guidance. Ask for revelation.

14. Be happy. Choose joy. Let your heart always be light.

15. Love always as you do now.

Avalanche

2011-04-11T11:37:00.000-07:00

You are standing near the bottom of a mountain. It is cold and your breath fogs in the air. You look up into a wall of crystalline beauty. Snow and ice line every crevice along the mountain face.

The sun is bright. The snow makes small sounds as it begins to melt. Drops fall like rain. The snow and ice lies suspended above you.

There is a huge blast of sound as the ice above gives way and comes sliding down toward your upturned face. You reach up with cupped hands and try to catch the avalanche but it buries you anyway.

This is what the longing for a baby is like. Utterly intractable. Utterly without any way of stopping the fallout. No way to keep from being buried and towed under by a force bigger than yourself.

It is a dynamic and unrelenting force of nature. It is more than hormones or some ticking biological clock. That simplifies something that is so tied to every aspect of a woman's soul- spirit, mind, body. It is a complicated trickle down of emotions and drive to be MORE than just a woman. To be a mother.

And it doesn't matter if you already have a child. It still happens. It is still as powerful, or more so, because you know exactly what it is you want. It is a reaching beyond yourself for something beyond heaven, something that is to be created and cherished. And there is NO reasoning with it. It simply is with an ebb and flow until it is fulfilled. It does not fade, it does not die. It IS.

It is about so much more than a baby. It is about family. It is about God, and a fulfillment of a promise we make just by being born female- that we can carry life. That we can know instinctively how to care for life, how to nurture. That we can carry, feed, and love our children, because we are women.

So to those I love that are buried in it right now, who are mired in snow and ice and waiting for the miracle to come, I understand.

I may be just a bit buried myself.

Michelle

2011-04-07T17:29:00.000-07:00

"Friend... I feel like s**t. I want to stop worrying, I want to stop being the depressed and weak person I have become. I don't have many people to lean on and have a small support system. I've grown tired of all the bulls**t and want to be done with it. I blame myself for not taking care of ME. How did you do it? How did you push yourself, everyday, and wake up in the morning on the days you wish you can curl up in the fetal postition in bed?"

My dear, sweet friend,

I love you. I can feel your pain and your frustration. I wish I had an answer for you, but I can only tell you what has gotten me through.

I know you are not a believer. I understand that. I've been there. And though I have never walked in your shoes or gone through what you have gone through, I've walked my own road. I've been laid low. I've been so down I wanted my life to end.

I've battled doubt. Self doubt, and doubt in God. But I have always been drawn back to Him. Over and over He has lifted my beyond my light and momentary circumstance. He has given me peace of a depth I cannot explain.

God how I wish this for you, Michelle. I wish that you would be bathed in the light of the One who cares for you so so much. I wish you would turn to Him with your troubles and your grief and your hurt. I wish you would give it all up to Him- the uncertainty and the worry. I wish, I wish...

But I also know how hard it can be to trust. How dependent we are on ourselves and getting through things on our own. I know that nothing in our lives lead us to believe. I know all of this.

I want to give you answers, and I want to give you comfort. And the only way I can do that is to say that I wish with all my heart that you would give your life over to God so that your comfort is deeper than anything you can manufacture for yourself, and wider than anything anyone in your life can give you. So that you have an eternal perspective on this momentary life. So that you know no matter what that you are cared for, loved, and held.

You can look forever for comfort. You can search for answers in the world, in other people. I've done it. And nothing, NOTHING comares to the peace I have, the rest I have in knowing I am a child of God. That my days are all known, that my burdens are carried on stronger shoulders than my own.

I cannot tell you that you will be healed. I can't say that all of these health problems will disappear or fall away. I can't tell you life will be perfect and whole.

All I can say, my sweet and beloved friend, is that in everything you will be known and loved by a force so much bigger than anything this life or anyone else can give you.

I love you, and as always, I am praying for you.

Bella

An open letter to any new, old, or soon to be friends.

2011-04-07T10:23:00.000-07:00

Listen. I'm not a low key kinda friend. I'm not happy with "hey we will catch up sometime, let's do lunch, yadda yadda yadda". I'm not content to be a spectator in your struggles or your pain. I won't stand aside and let you blow it or make mistakes or sit in your woundedness.

I won't act as if I don't see your hurt. I won't act as if your triumphs are no big deal. I am here for all of it.

I will jump in with both feet and do it all with you- scale the mountains, camp in the valleys. I will walk along every muddy messy step you take down any dark road life leads you. I will lift you high with prayer, but I will also use my hands and feet as God tells me to help you throught your life.

I am not a sit back, drink cocktails, and talk about nothing important kinda friend.

I want it all. I want all of the ugliness, and all of the beauty. I want to know what made you who you are, no matter how badly you think it makes you appear. I want to know your wounds and your mistakes. I want to cover you with love and care when you are weak and lean on you when you are strong.

If you are looking for a casual friendship, I'm sorry, I don't do that. I refuse to have surface realtionships anymore. I refuse to love with indifference or pretend that what goes on in your life does not matter to me.

You are important in my world. You are special to me. I treasure you.

I am not an easy friend to have. I ask the hard questions. I want to know the good AND the bad. If you want to hide it because you are afraid I will judge, don't. All I want is to help you through what I can. All I want is to celebrate your life with you, whether it is easy or difficult.

So, if you are looking for surface friendship, I'm not your gal. I'm not going to discuss celebrity gossip with you. Okay, I will, but only after I ask you with all sincerity how YOU are.

I want to know you. YOU. The real you, not the face you put on for the rest of the world.

So. Now that that is outta the way, my friend... How ARE you?

The Big Kids Playground

2011-04-06T12:04:00.001-07:00

Today I took my girl to the park. We went to the big kids side, the one where the slides are higher, the the swings are bigger, and the other children are wilder.

She was excited, ready to take on the world. She rushed for the stairs, bounding up them with the enthusiam only a four year old could produce. She ran straight for the twisty slide, of course, the one that makes me the most nervous. I hovered behind her as she climbed. She didn't glance back, not even before she took off down the slide.

I watched her, offering suggestions now and then as she explored. She rarely looked to me at all, but I stayed right behind her anyway.

The sun was high and hot as a little boy shot past me to the ladder. He wanted me to watch him climb, so I did.

"I can climb without a mommy behind me!"

"That's awesome!" I said encouragingly.

Lily approached the same ladder right after the boy. I walked up to stand close behind her, my hands at the ready should she fall.

The little boy leaned over and looked at me.

"NO! Don't be behind her!" he yelled, frowning at me.

I stayed quiet, watching Lily climb.

"NO! She doesn't need you!" he yelled again, louder.

Lily stopped and looked back at me. I expected her to ask me to move away. Maybe she would be embarassed to have me hovering.

But instead she looked up at the boy.

"That's my mommy. That's what she is supposed to do!!! She LOVES me!" She was indignant and angry.

The boy took off and she kept climbing.

I thought about this alot as we drove home.

My girl wasn't scared to climb. She wans't afraid to go higher than she had before, or afraid to fall.

Because she knew I was there.

In many ways, my daughter teaches me about God. About how to trust and love Him. Today was a very big lesson for me.

I don't make a move without God being there. He is sometimes silent, and always unobtrusive, but he never fails to be by my side. He is there, waiting.

While I climb the ladders.

While I take on the heights.

While I conquer my fears.

He is behind me, waiting for the moment to be needed.

Waiting for me to to turn and ask for help, for a hand, for an encouraging word.

Because He loves me, loves to parent me, and in my Lily's sweet words- "That's what He is supposed to do! He LOVES me!!!"

I am so grateful to have my children. In a way, it is a backwards form of teaching. They teach me what my parents did not. I have grown more in my love and more in my walk with God in the past 4 years than ever in my life. I have learned a lifetime's worth of joy, and been blessed a million times over by these two gift's God has given me.

So here's to a lifetime of climbing the big ladders, sliding the giant twisty slides, and exploring the world, knowing there is love and care behind me, hands at the ready.

The love is worth it

2011-04-04T09:39:00.001-07:00

Last week I got flowers. They were closed tightly when they came, their beautiful blooms hidden. They sat straight and rigid in their vase, waiting.

Waiting for what? For the warmth, the sun, the air to be right. For all of the universe to align itself in a way that would allow them to open and see the sun. Waiting to turn their beautiful faces to the light and bask in knowing they had fufilled their purpose. Waiting to be everything they were created to be.

That's where I am now. In the spot between cowering and covering and unfurling and opening. In that place where I love and am loved. Where I no longer guard my words or hide who I am.

In this space, I am open. I am free. And I am here.

I know this is not an epiphany for many. I know some people who have been open since birth. They have never hidden or kept quiet when they longed to speak. Oh how I used to envy that.

But right now, dear friends....right now I am there. In the place where I feel more myself than I ever have. When I show myself to others.

I am afraid, still, to love. I am afraid to say everything that comes to my lips for fear of being laughed at or mocked. But I do it anyway. And do you want to know why? Because this is the person God created me to be. For better or worse, I am this.

One who loves way too much. One who cares way too much. One who goes father and does more for others than is healthy. The one who is vulnerable and says "I love you." The one who cares so much for others pain it becomes my own.

I used to hold that part of myself off. I was so afraid to be hurt. But now I know, hurting is the price you sometimes pay for love. There will always be hurt. But there can always be forgiveness and compassion and a deeper connection from the pain.

I was made to feel everything. It may be healthier to repress that, but would I be honoring the heart God gave me?

I was with a bunch of girlfriends not too long ago. I was in the middle of conversation when God spoke in my heart. "Stop. Just stop and look around you."

And I did. And I saw a life I never would have known before God unfurled my heart like a flower. Before I allowed it and welcomed it. Before who I was was buried under hurt and fear.

And now it is here. I am, in this very moment in life, all that I am meant to be.

And I it has nothing to do with a dress size, a bank account, the car I drive or the house I live in.

It is in whom God created me to be, and in me being obedient enough to honor it. To love and take the risk of being hurt. To give with open hands of everything I have. To leave selfishness behind.

I may be hurt because I love so much. I may be taken advantage of. And I may be crushed with rejection and sadness. But in the end, the love is worth it.

The love is worth it.

Ordinary is not enough.

2011-03-30T10:15:00.000-07:00

My husband used to think I was great. He used to look at me like there was nobody else in the world. He thought I was smart and funny. He found me sexy and alluring. I was a surprise to him- my opinions and words were different than what he grew up with.

Likewise, to say I adored him would be putting it mildly. I still do. I have honsetly never met a better man than my husband.

But we have been together 10 years. We have been married for nearly 6 of those years, and parents for 4.

When we talk now, it is of ordinary things. The kids. Meals. Daily life.

We love each other. But like in all realtionships at times, we take each other for granted.

And I miss it. I miss the look in his eyes when I would walk into a room. The way he would talk to me and listen to me. The way I felt as if nobody else on this earth was as important as I am to him.

Life intrudes on the most passionate of loves. Children. Bills. Jobs. It becomes a wedge it is hard to see each other around. It's normal.

But normal sometimes can be heartbreaking. Normal can make me really really...sad. And today I am sad.

I miss him.

I don't miss my husband. I miss my love. My friend. The one who shared all of my dreams. The one who looked into my eyes and saw ME, not the mother of his children. Not his wife. ME. The one he feel so deeply in love with.

The one he thought was smart enough to listen to. The one he thought was talented enough to do anything. The one he looked at like I hung the moon. ME.

I am sure he feels the same way. I am sure I have made him feel expendable in my drive to be the perfect mother. I have left him behind. I know this. And it breaks my heart.

I want more than ordinary. I want more that stable. I want more than good. I want a love that never ends. A love that is more than this house and these children and this life. Love that is above all of it.

I want him. The one I fell in love with. My dear dear friend. My confidante. My love.

He isn't lost. I know he is there still. And I know all of this is natural. A natural ebb and flow that happens when there are other things that have to be focused on.

But today, sitting here watching the rain and knowing he is getting on a plane and flying far away, I feel alone. This house feels empty. My heart feels empty too.

I don't want ordinary love. I want the miracle I felt the moment I laid eyes on my Mark. The absolute joy and terror that I felt when I felt my heart open further than I ever had before, knowing God had set him in my path. I want that, again.

I know it will come back. I have faith in the God who brought us together. I have faith in my sweet and loving husband. And I have faith in myself to recognize how badly I need him and how far I will go to make sure our love grows and changes with our life.

But right now, today, I am missing what we used to be.

Pizza 5 dollars. Vomit, free.

2011-03-28T16:32:00.000-07:00

Picture this: 5:45 PM on 5 dollar pizza night at Eddie Romanellis.

A party walks in and says- "We have 8 adults, 5 kids, and we need 4 highchairs."

Staff member looks confused.

"Ummmm so, you need 4 highchairs for 5 kids or your need space for 8 adults, 5 kids, and 4 highchairs?"

"8 adults, 5 kids, and 4 highchairs."

"So 9 kids?"

"Yes."

Right now you are thinking- there's no way these people went out with 9 children! There's no way they went out outnumbered! That's just poor planning!

Oh yes we did.

And, you are thinking- I bet it was chaos, pandemonium, craziness!

And you would be... totally right.

Our waitress was so cute when she first arrived at out table. So perky, so sweet.

We broke her down within minutes. Did I mention our party included 4 infants, 3 toddlers, and 2 older kids? Oh, and one pregnant mama pushing 37 weeks.

Yeah. What the hell were we thinking?

It started off good. We shared some cheerios and french fries. Chatted, laughed. Ordered our pizzas and dipped bread into mounds of butter.

And then the kids got full and bored. Cheerios littered the ground like fiber landmines. Kids were alternately under the table or crying. There was a near TKO with a menu and a plate that went flying and caused major psychological damage.

I took in the scene around us. People were definitely looking. Some were horrified, some amused.

But the kicker was the staff in the kitchen. Watching, laughing, and poking fun at our waitress who slowly went from perky to pissed with every trip back behind the glass.

And then, the cherry on the chaos cake.

"Miss, would you like me to box up your pizza?" our waitress asked my friend.

Just as her little boy started to throw up, naturally.

My friend, being the mama she is, offered up a place for him to be sick. Right on top of her leftover pizza.

The waitress asked again, in a decidedly more uncertain tone: "Ummmm do you still want to box that up?"

And that's when all the moms at the table lost it. We laughed so hard we cried. Our preggo mama wondered if her water would break.

Then we laughed even harder.

I am pretty sure our waitress will never have children. Her ovaries surely dried up like the Sahara right then and there.

But we did leave a big tip. For the therapy.

As I walked out I had to stifle the urge to shake hands and yell "Free birth control! You. Are. Welcome!!!!!!!"

Next time we call Dominoes.

Love...

2011-03-23T11:15:00.001-07:00

Love.

It's deeper. It's wider. It's stretched to the fullest inside of my heart.

It is in her eyes as she cries for daddy.

It is in his face as he sleeps.

Love.

It is a rushing river, flowing over time.

It is as wide as the sky, as blue as the robin egg.

It is.

Mother's love.

It is fierce
and wise
and kind
and more.

It is holding tight and letting go.

It is trusting and breaking with sorrow.

It is the heart that sings of things yet to be.

The wide reaching vision that sees beyond what we will see.

It is the reaching out to Hands that love.

And reaching to hold hands that need.

Love.
It is.

Motherhood is
love
grace
dedication
nurturing
and heartache.

Love is
and I am in it.

Immersed like a baptism in the water of family.

Love is motherhood.

I can't

2011-03-22T10:03:00.000-07:00

I make alot of excuses. I say "I can't" alot.

Mostly in regards to eating and exercise.

Truth is, I am scared to change.

I have been heavy all my life.

I have thought about my weight every hour of everyday. No exaggeration.

I have abused my body with sugar and fat. I have made excuses not to change or excel.

I have excused myself from exercise out of laziness and weakness.

And, I have reaped what I have sown.

Today I am very overweight. I am addicted to sugar. And my heart and lungs are not strong. My body is weak.

There is temptation to keep going as I am. Coast along. Keep telling myself that I have tried everything.

But I refuse. I give no sanctuary to hopelessness in my heart.

AND TODAY I TAKE CAN'T OUT OF MY VOCABULARY.

Because can't and God cannot co-exist in this fight.

And this fight is for my life. For my well being. And my spiritual growth is hung up on this one tipping point- because I can't say "I can't" when I have such a beautiful Savior to give me strength.

So.

Today I was walking. I was at the tail end of a nearly 4 mile walk. The sun was shining bright and hot. My son was content to ride in the stroller and wiggle his toes in the sun.

And I was talking to God. About my dreams. How I am living the dream I never thought I would. Happily married. Lovely children. Good life.

And there's just this ONE thing. This addiction to sugar. This roadblack to exercise.

This word- CAN'T.

I can't give up sugar.

I can't lose weight.

I can't run.

I can't give it my all.

I can't look like a fool.

I was telling God of my dream of giving up this word, this addiction. My dream of being healthy and happy with myself.

It was as if He spoke to me, ya'll.

"My sweet girl, don't you know your dreams are MY dreams? That everything good you want for yourself, I want too?"

Wow.

Just...wow.

And okay, Lord.

It's a deal.

So today, "Can't" disappears.

Replaced with I can. I'd be glad to. I'm happy to. I will.

And with Thank you, Lord, for dreaming with me.

Hands

2011-03-17T03:11:00.000-07:00

The sun lies dappled, waves of light over his face.

He smiles at me, his eyes disappearing into cheeks filled with joy.

I raise my own face to the sun as the birds sing to God of His glory.

I raise my hand, brush away hair from my lips and eyes.

My hands.

Hands that look just like my grandmothers.

Small enough to clean the canning jars, like hers.

Strong enough to comfort and work.

Soft and inviting to hold. Ragged and ripped around the cuticles.

My hands say I am mama.

No time for paint.

No time for manicures.

Just the bareness of busyness lying next to the sparkle of promises.

And I think.

Of what my hands have done over time.

The work, the hurt, the joy.

Folded in prayer, covered with tears.

Cradling a newborn babe.

Offering food they had made.

Touching, loving, and giving the bread of affection to a hungry soul.

Hands that could have harmed, had I not been saved.

Hands that were born into harn and saved by grace.

Hands that learned of love from the hands of the One who gives all good things.

And my prayer

for today

Is that in all things, His hands are folded tightly over my own

guiding, offering, helping.

And loving, always loving.

I do...promise to rewrite my vows.

2011-03-16T07:12:00.000-07:00

I really think everyone should re-write their wedding vows after 5 years together. I've thought alot about this, actually. After five years there are pretty much no more surprises. You may have already had children- or 2, or 3, or if you are like the Duggars, 5.

And speaking of the Duggars- how is the mom always so calm? I would be in the nuthouse. Heck, I would consider the nuthouse a vaca NOW, and I only have 2. She amazes me, really.

Ahem. I digress.

Anywho. Mark and I have been married for 5 years now. Together for 10 this coming October 23rd. Our wedding vows were beautiful and meaningful, but didn't QUITE cover all bases.

So here goes:

I promise to look away when you pick your nose. I will pretend I don't see it. You can do the same when I dig in my ear and make that noise in my throat.

I promise to not point and laugh when you get out of the shower and try to look manly. You promise not to call me a teletubby when I am pregnant. Or any other time, even though the imagery is SO appropo.

I promise that I will clean the toilets with no complaining. Wait. This vow I will totally break. I will promise that I won't yell "DEAR GOD WHAT DID YOU DO IN HERE!!!" anymore. Wait. I just promise to clean the toilets. All bets are off on everything else.

I promise to carry your babies. You in turn will listen to every complaint I have with regards to this issue. Footrubs are optional. Wait. Footrubs are NOT optional.

I promise that I will love you even when you are extra hairy and have eaten fried food and beans. I may stay 10 feet from you, but I will love you from afar. Promise.

I promise to watch you with our kids and pretend I have something in my eye instead of crying because you are an AMAZING father. The best. Hands down.

I promise to tackle all of my baggage without letting too much of the fallout rain down on you.

I promise that when you point and laugh at me when I am angry, I will get out the salad tongs and go after your nether regions.

I vow to not be outwardly annoyed when you vulture over my shoulder when I cook.

I vow to try not to yell "I am NEVER cooking again!!!!" when you vulture over my shoulder. But I will be thinking it.

I promise that your heart and all of the things that hurt you will always have a soft place to fall with me. No matter what.

I promise to only throw RIPE fruit at your head. Sorry about the unripe peach. Do you need some ice?

I vow to always be there for you when you need me. Except when you have a cold. Cause that is just ridiculous. I can only listen to so much whining without my head imploding.

I promise to love your family like my own.

Lastly, I promise you that I am THRILLED that you picked me. I can't wait until we are old and wrinkled and your pants are up to your chin and my bra is tucked into my waistband. Cause you are mine, and I am yours no matter how badly we age. But I WON'T change your diapers. That's why we had kids.

And I promise, above all, to never take for granted that God saw fit to give me a good man like you. Better than I deserve, more loving than I could ever need.

You complete me.

See. Isn't that a bit more realistic? Don't get me wrong, traditional wedding vows are fantastic. But after some time together, modification is necessary.

Have a great day!

Bread of Life

2011-03-15T00:05:00.000-07:00

Have you ever made bread? From scratch I mean. It's a process. Measuring, adding ingredients. You have to get your hands dirty. You have to dig into the dough and knead it. You have to work at it until you set it aside to rise.

And when you come back, there it is, like magic. Entirely different than when you left it. It is bigger, fuller, rounder. It has grown.

And then you knead it again, working it until it is again something entirely different. It is still bread, but in different form. Only then can you bake it. Only much later can you taste of your efforts.

Making bread is alot like forgiving yourself.

You start with a decision you made. One of necessity, maybe. One of anger or stupidity. Something that effects you greatly. One that hurts. One that ripples through your life.

You grapple with it, going over and over again with it in your mind. You set it aside, determined not to think of it. But when you come back to it, because it is human nature to do so, it has grown. It must be worked at again until it is manageable.

You could go on forever like this. And forever, the decision you made will haunt you.

Until you add God and His grace to the equation.

We are created human. We make human mistakes. Mistakes and decisions that cannot be reversed or changed. We think about these choices and they hurt and become bigger and bigger in our minds and soul. That's what humans do. It is our nature.

But a human that lives under God's unending love is different. We have hundreds of scriptures about forgiveness. We have a path to follow when we err.

And the path leads right to Calgary. To the cross. To the sacrifice. It leads to the outstretched arms, the agony, the blood. It leads to a man who with His last breath asked God to forgive us.

It leads to Jesus. To his left hand, pierced. To his right hand, pierced. To his head, crowned with thorns. To his lips that spoke our ransom in a voice longing for home.

God knew we would hurt each other. He knew we would hurt ourselves. He knew that we would fall, and make choices we couldn't live with. He made a covenant with us, that his Son's blood would pay our way into a paradise we could never deserve.

We are hardest on ourselves. But when we confess our sin and ask to be forgiven, WE ARE. And with that decision, we have to let it go as well. That is OUR part of the bargain.

Not so easy.

It requires work. Getting your hands dirty. Kneading down what has risen up. Working over it with prayer and dedication, knowing the outcome will be something that sustains you.

It also means knowing that hands other than your own are at work with you. The forgiving yourself is a process that is done with God. In communion with Him. The burden is not entirely your own. It can be shared and given over into hands that are stronger than your own. Hands that can work in ways you cannot fathom.

In the end, there is reward for your efforts. Sustenance for your soul. Strength from what has been given. The knowledge that your hands were covered by His, and together you created life from pain.

Luke 22:19
And He took the bread, gave thanks and broke it, and He gave it to them saying, "This is my body given for you. Do this in remembrance of me."

John 6:51
"I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world."

Matthew 26:28
"This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured of for many for the forgiveness of sins."

Don't Look at Me

2011-03-11T06:41:00.000-08:00

Do you ever wonder who your life is pointing to? Who your words glorify, and who your life work speaks of?

It's something I struggle with everyday.

The deepest hope of my heart is that in all of my ways, all of my words, and all of my writing, I am pointing to the One who has blessed me beyond measure. That when you see me, you see Him. That my words lift you up to Christ.

I wrote about it over at (in)courage today. You can read it here: http://www.incourage.me/2011/03/dont-look-at-me.html

Love Story

2011-03-08T10:14:00.000-08:00

I have been in love since I was 6 years old.

I have run from it. I have fled on feet filled with fear. I have turned away. I have pushed hard against it. I have shoved and bloodied my love. I have denied it out of anger.

But it never abandoned me. Never.

It has clung to me from the first moment I opened my heart. Sitting on a cold wooden pew in my nightgown, looking into the marble face that would surround my heart. I needed to believe in so much more than what my world was showing me. I needed the church I was in to echo with the tide of belief, and surround me with it's presence.

I needed Christ.

I sat that day dejected. In bare feet. I went to the church because it's the only place I knew to go. The Cathedral, with it's vaulted ceilings, statues of saints, candles burning low in dark red glass- it was familiar. It was safe. The hymnals, the battered kneelers were familiar.

I ran my hand over the wood in front of me, smoothing it. I watched the blood that was on my skin go back and forth, back and forth. I licked my lips and tasted blood. And I looked up. I looked up into stone and I cried.

"Please make mama better. Please."

It was all I knew to say. The only prayer I had ever prayed. One that came from the deepest part of my soul.

I was alone in that church. But suddenly, not alone. I felt Him. Like water to desert. I cried harder, and my tears washed the blood from my lips and my hands.

I sat. I cried. But the stone had become flesh. The wood had become warm. I didn't need to stop crying and be strong. And I didn't need to see Him to see. I knew He was real. And I loved Him, because I wasn't alone.

I walked home from the church to find the door unbolted. I walked home from the church different.

I knew there was more. More than what could be seen. And I knew I was loved. More than I could ever, ever imagine.

She didn't get better. There was pain and sadness. But in it all, my steps were dogged by a God I couldn't deny. He followed me like shadow- into the dark places nobody else was willing to even see.

He loved the unloved and the unwanted. Even when I denied Him, turned my back. When I howled in anger, railed at Him. When I screamed my pain and hatred at Him, he stood His ground.

He was not intimidated by my anger. He didn't run from any of the sickness.

And He didn't leave me alone.

EVER.

That is love. Not a love anybody on this earth can give you. Not a love that can be understood or explained in pretty words. My life with Christ can be summed up in one sentence:

He loves me, and I love Him.

Not because of who I am, or because of what I have done. Not because my heart called to Him. Not because of obligation.

He loves me because I gave myself to Him fully. The good and the bad. All of myself is His.

And isn';t this what He is asking for? He doesn't ask for perfection. He doesn't ask for anything other than communion. A conversation. Listening and being listened to. To be included in my day to day life. To be the first I run to in joy and sadness. To be so ingrained into my world that he becomes my world.

Many people say that you must do good works to be a Christian. That you must be a good person. Have no evil thoughts. Have no hidden corners.

But in my experience, the opposite is true. I came to him in darkness. I have lived in bad decisions. I have turned away from Him. I have been prideful, ugly, nasty, and wrong. I have been a liar.

But I came back to Him. And He welcomed me and loved me as if I had never left. And a few years ago, I came back to stay. With all of my rough edges, and all of my flaws. I came back and I begged Him to take my life and make it His. I didn't ask to be changed. I asked to be accepted.

And in all of that, I found myself wanting to be different. Doors opened in my soul. I walked out on faith, and learned to love. To be vulnerable. I learned that love and hurt go hand and hand, and can be conquered with faith.

Like that small little girl looking into the stone face of God, I gave myself over to something I could not see. I stretched my hand to the invisible world.

And my hand was taken. And has been held since.

This is the love story I live each day. One that led to all of the other loves in my life.

It all began with the wood, the stone, the blood and the tears. It was born by pain, and grew into joy.

Love never fails.

Dig

2011-03-05T06:56:00.000-08:00

I spend alot of my time feeling guilty. Do I spend enough time with my kids? Am I teaching them to love? Did I raise my voice to often today? Did they go to bed knowing I love them? Did I finish the laundry and mop the floors? Is the house spotless?

Guilt follows me like a puppy. A bad puppy that constantly nips at me.

Some days I've got it all together. Everything gets done. But I realize at the end of the day, I have not sat down and played with my kids. They are cranky and clingy.

Some days my house is a wreck. But my kids have been hugged and kissed and loved so much that lipstick stains most of their faces and neck. They go to bed freshly bathed, smelling of soap and lotion and clean cotton. They go to sleep with smiles.

Alot of days, the balance eludes me.

So here's the thing. I left the kids in the playroom yesterday. I was putting away laundry, cleaning up...well, I don't have to tell you what I was doing- you do the same things everyday.

But as I walked by the video monitor for the playroom, I was struck by what my kiddos were doing. Sitting, side by side, arms around each other, watching Toy Story 3. They were leaning into each other, utterly comfortable in each others presence. As I watched, Lily kissed Sam, and Sam pushed her away. She kissed him again anyway and he giggled.

I sat down. I watched. And I let God unfurl into my heart.

I spend so much time trying to be everything to everybody. But I can't be.

That's why God invented FAMILY.

In the absence of me, my children were loving on each other- giving each other attention. They were creating their own sense of what is important, and to them sitting together and hugging was important. Affection, love, and snuggles were important enough to create it on their own, apart from me. I have ingrained love into their little souls so much that when I am away from them, they still seek it out in each other.

I have created a family. Me. The lost one. The left behind. I've created something beyond myself.

And it is beautiful.

God has allowed me to reach into a part of myself that was not unearthed. He let me uncover it for myself and bring it to the light. This part that so many people take for granted, something many are taught from birth- the ability to be in a family. A knowing of place, to whom and what you belong. For most, it is unearthed for you simply by being among your loved one. For others like me, it has to be dug up from the ground, spoon by spoon.

It's work. And sometimes it hurts. And alot of times, it doesn't seem worth it.

But in those moments when I think I haven't got it right, and the times when guilt comes to sit with me, I can think of my babies, sitting side by side, arms around each other. I can know that that driving need to BE with somebody you love, to be affectionate and needed, is something God showed me. Knowing you can be needed and loved without fear of rejection and abandonment is life changing. God showed me that.

And because He showed me, I can show them. How awesome is that?

One Breath

2011-03-03T06:51:00.000-08:00

On Tuesday morning, in the bright March sun with the warm breezes blowing in his face, my son stopped breathing. In the least dangerous of places, in the most mundane situation. While being loaded into the car from the shopping cart. He coughed, vomited, drew a HUGE breath...and turned blue.

It happened in seconds. It lasted forever. ForEVER.

He was looking at me, was in my arms. His face was purple, and then it got pale, and his little arms which had been pinwheeling and his feet that had been kicking slowed. His lips were blue.

I knew I was looking into death. That even in my arms, he could be taken. Even when I was holding him. Even then, with his mama holding him...it could have been over.

I didn't panic. My entire world shifted into just keeping him here with me. I gave him a hard back blow, and just like that, he coughed and began screaming.

We are all just a breath away from peril. One breath.

I was one breath away from my world being entirely different. A different life. A life where that precious boy might not be here.

But...in the midst of looking into Sam's face, I found myself surrounded. I was held on every SINGLE side. Hemmed in. I was circled. The wind stopped. All there was was me, my boy...and a thousand angels. If I had looked up I know I would have seen them. I could FEEL them. Warmth like the sun, calm like the womb. As real as my own hands. They were present.

I was on the precipice of a great fall. A fall that would have killed my soul. And even in that dark moment, I was not alone. Sam was not alone. He was held with hands other than my own.

I cannot tell you the comfort I have taken from that one second. In the days since, in the breathing treatments and sickness and medications, I have felt the same calm. I have walked away from my son's crib, and left him sleeping, knowing he is not alone. I have whispered into the darkness of his room, spoken my thanks. I have felt them, again and again, telling me to rest easy. To be comforted.

I have had many moments on this earth that convicted me of God's love. I have looked into the face of heaven when I saw my children for the first time. I have known God, loved Him. But in the moment between life and death, I felt a deep onrush of His presence. I felt His intercession.

Between that one breath and the other, I have been changed forever.

Failure

2011-02-22T12:08:00.000-08:00

It creeps up when I least expect it, this feeling. A sadness, a defeated wilting, a barrage of anger at myself and my feeling of failure.

I wish I would have nursed Samuel longer. I feel like I failed him.

Yes, I know that is irrational. I nursed him for nearly a year. I struggled and pushed through so many trials with the nursing- the ear infections, the ear surgery, the fact that eating ang getting nourishment from me HURT him. He never loved it. I hung on to it alot longer than he did. He happily switched to bottles without a backward glance. I cried for days, and still do sometimes.

I mourn for the time that was cut short. My body needed to not nurse anymore, and he was already self weaning- but it still hurts.

Because he will not cuddle with me. He won't sit with me. He won't hug me or let me hold him. He's not a snuggler. He's a wanderer. And frankly most of the time, he prefers Mark to me.

And try as I might to not do it, I keep going back to when nursing stopped. I keep feeling as if I could have pushed through, made a way to make it work. But I didn't. I gave in. And the bond I have with him suffered.

Lily is his exact opposite in many ways. She will sit with me for hours. She will snuggle and lie with me. She happily naps with me. She tells me she loves me a hundred times a day. And she seems to really need me.

She also breastfed for 2 years, with no supplementation, no bottles or formula.

Is that the difference between them? Is my choice to stop nursing something that will carry over into our relationships forever? The thought breaks my heart.

I cannot change it now, but if I could, I would. I would spend more time lying with him, nursing him as long as he needed. I wouldn't have rushed. I would have found better ways to position him so his neck and ears didn't hurt. I would have researched medications and how to continue on.

But I didn't. And I regret it terribly.

So if you are nursing, please enjoy it. Enjoy the snuggles and the warmth and the give and take of love. Look down and watch your child as your body provides for their needs. It is a living breathing miracle we as women get to experience.

And hold onto it as long as you can.

Circle

2011-02-21T17:45:00.000-08:00

The kitchen is warm, breezes blowing in through the open windows. Music bubbles from the speakers on the laptop, filling the room with sound. The babies dance in their chairs, Lily throwing back her head to laugh. Warm crisp chicken nuggets fill their bellies, handfuls of endamame following.

We laugh, we dance. We make up songs. I kiss Sam's head, smelling the soft sweet smell of baby shampoo mixed with the tartness of outside living. The sun hits Lily's face and her eyes glow amber. She smiles and drinks her milk. Sam dances and laughs.

And I look at them and my heart about comes out of my chest. It has been a perfect day, the sun shining warm, wind blowing strong. The kind of day that calls you outside to play play play. And play we did. All day, out giggles ringing out across park and sidewalk and front porch.

A day filled with mommy friends. Women I cannot imagine my life without. With one call, we get together with our babies. It is messy and chaotic and fun. The kids play, swing, eat wood chips. The mamas talk and find a bit of time for themselves in a day filled with doing for others.

And I realized something. I've always been okay on my own. I've always been scared to reach out and be this person. But today I felt good in my own skin. In being open and vulnerable. In caring enough that hurt would be profound, but wanting to care enough to have it not matter.

I am no longer content to be alone. I need people. I need other mamas. I need company and laughter. I need the touch of a hand and shared understanding. I need to be around other women who watch out for my kiddos, who touch them with gentle hands, who call out "I love you too!" without hesitation to my daughter when she calls it to them.

I need people. I need my friends. And the though of it is no longer terrifying, but comforting. I am resting easy in the idea of needing and being needed, and no longer afraid of rejection.

Because, let's face it. Life crumbles. Words are said, feelings hurt. Friends don't always see eye to eye. Inevitably there is conflict. And that used to scare me.

But it's worth it. All of this love and laughter and care is worth every fear of failing at friendship, of not being good enough. It's worth it to know I can go through this life, this motherhood, with others who love my children. It's worth it to know I have friends to care for and to give to. I have my friends children to love and watch grow.

It's days like this that make me realize what life is about. It's about the day to day living, yes...but it's also about the sunshine, the giggles, the bubbles, the chalk, the grass in between my toes and the cookie crumbs on my shirt. It's about watching my babies run and play with children then will grow up with.

And it's about a circle of mommies to share it all with.

Step

2011-02-18T11:07:00.000-08:00

I love God. I believe in Him. I walk everyday with Him. I try to please Him.

But here's the thing:

I have friends that are not believers. Friends that are agnostic. Friends that are atheists.

And I GET IT.

I get the lack of trust, and the lack of willingness to leap into something that will change you from the inside out. I get the fear. I get the feeling that turning your back is easier that opening your arms to God.

I have walked that long and lonely road. I was never in a position of disbelief, exactly, but one of ambivalence and sometimes, hostility. I knew God existed, but I doubted he cared at all for me.

Life had not led me to believe any different, and radical changes do not happen in a vacuum. I had to actively search out something more. I had to reach for more. I had to dig myself out of the hole of anger I was in. I had to come to the absolute end of myself. And I did. Then love came and rescued me.

But my story isn't one that alot of people get to live. Many people have been hurt and abandoned. Many people have been injured by their past. Many people have been put through the wringer by religion so that they shied away from it forever. Their hearts have been hardened by the world so much that it cannot be softened by God.

And I get that.

I cannot judge anyone with regards to their beliefs, because I have walked both sides of this fence. I have howled at God, raged, and washed my hands of Him. I have fallen on my knees and begged for God to save me, to heal my mother. And He didn't. And I don't know why.

All I can say if you are in that place is that the comfort of knowing God is so, so much more profound than the righteousness of turning your back when your pleas, go unheard. I still question. I still don't understand why I am scarred. I still rage, sometimes, because of the remembered pain.

But.

He is so much more than our own knowledge. He is so much more than our human experience. He sees ALL, and He knows ALL. He sees the big picture. He sees beyond the pain to what it creates in us. Hurt, betrayal, rejection, loss, abandonment, anger, sickness...all of it is a bridge. It spans the gap between us feeling like we can conquer the world on our own, and knowing we need to reach for a power beyond us to survive the world.

I could be bitter. I could be angry. I have been. And rightfully so. But now, I can surrender to the knowledge that all of my life is in the hands of One who sees it all, who knows how to refine me into a person capable of handling anything coming my way.

So if you don't believe, I understand. I would never judge you. I would never look down on you. I would simply pray that your heart would unfold in the tiniest corner, soften slowly enough to just let a little bit of God's love seep in.

Because, my friend, hope and love are everything. And they are magnified a thousand times by sharing it with a God who loves you back, fiercely. It is so profoundly comforting to rest easy in the knowledge that even when you don't have the answers, He does. There is nothing He does not want to give you, and nothing he will not lead you through. All He asks of you is communion with Him. A dialogue. A stretching of belief to cover things unseen. A closing of the eyes and reaching out in prayer to Him, to feeling Him surround you. He asks for you to love Him, because he loves you.

So if you are in the place of fearing to believe, fear of stepping out on faith, I understand. You are poised above a precipice, and the unknown lies below. But I can assure you, sweet friend, that you will never regret the step. Never.

Four

2011-02-16T03:44:00.001-08:00

Dear Lily,

The day you were born was the best of my life. I had waited so so long for you. When I first looked into your eyes, the world stopped. I KNEW you. I looked at this tiny new person, and I said "Oh! Hi! I've been expecting you."

It was as if there was never a time you did not exist. And I have thought about that moment alot since. I believe, deep down in the sacred parts of my soul, that God allowed me to know you so I would keep going. That He gave me knowledge, somewhere in my soul, that you were waiting for me. That you had chosen me.

And when you were born, there was a great shift in my spirit. I knew, beyond any doubt, that I was born to be your mother. I was born to wash your tiny feet and hands, born to clothe you and carry you, and born to sit and nurse you for hours. Everything clicked, and I settled into my skin for the first time ever.

You saved me from myself. From feeling never good enough or strong enough. It wasn't about me anymore. It was about your smile, your giggle. It was about your care. It was about your comfort. In caring for you, I cared for that part of myself which came alive when you were born. I nurtured and reparented myself.

You were such a sweet baby. So small. When I had you in the sling, nobody even knew you were there. You would nestle in and sleep, or lie quietly and listen to my heart. Every night, I would make up a hot water bottle and wrap my t-shirt from the day around it. I would tuck it next to you in your bassinet, and cover the whole thing like a bird cage to keep you warm. I would sleep with my hand over your chest to feel your breathing, and to know when you cried. You were so small your cries made no noise.

I would nurse you for hours. And soon you started to grow. You left the preemie clothing behind by the time you were 10 weeks old, and we celebrated that you were in newborn clothing! You were so tiny. I should have been scared but I wasn't. You were fierce as well, a fighter. I could see myself in your stare.

You grew. And now, my sweet angel, now you are a little girl. A baby no longer. You are in school. You have little friends. You are compassionate and kind. There is not an ounce of meanness in your sweet little soul. You love everyone. You give to everyone.

You still save me, everyday. God put me here to be your mama. I know that with a clarity that I have never experienced in my life.

For so long, I was a wandering and floundering ship, tossed on waves. Until you. When you came, I found the harbor I never had before. You brought me home to a life I never knew I deserved. You are so much more than just my baby girl. You are the reason my life makes sense. You are the reason I know for certain God loves me.

So here's to four years together, you and I. The lost and the found. The saved. And the sweetest girl who saved me.

I love you to the moon, and beyond. You are my everything.

Love,
Mama

Mama said there'd be days like this

2011-02-04T15:30:00.000-08:00

Put Sam and Lily in tub.

Sam takes off his diaper.

Clean him up quickly so he doesn't poop in tub.

Take his screaming hiney into his room.

Load him up with lotion just as Lily calls out that she has to poop.

Try to get a grip on Sam to put him in crib. Give up cause he is greased like a pig.

Run to Lily. Wash her up quick, dry her, put her on toilet.

Turn around to see my son is covered head to toe in powder.

Catch him as he slips on the wet tile.

Fall on my butt on the wet tile while holding him.

Tell Lily to stop laughing.

Take Sam to his room, still greased and slippy.

Chuck him into his crib, turn around and see that his room is covered in powder.

Yell inappropriate words.

Tell Sam to stop laughing.

Remember Lily is still on the potty.

Run in to clean her up. She hands me toilet paper with a sigh and disgusted look.

Apologize.

Spring Sam from crib. Start dressing him.

Lily screams from her room.

Run to her, slipping on wet tile again.

Kiss toe booboo.

Remember Sam is loose, the bathroom is open, the toilet seat up.

Scramble to the bathroom.

Find a whole roll of toilet paper on floor.

Yell inappropriate words.

Tell Sam to stop laughing.

Apologize to Lily for said words.

Drag Sam to Lilys room, dress Lily.

Turn around to see Sam throwing himself off the window seat.

Catch him by the head.

Feel like supermom for a sec until my back seizes up.

Yell and fall over on floor.

Apologize for yelling.

Moan. Give Sam the evil eye for laughing.

Sit up because Sam is yanking my bun and glasses.

Stumble to kitchen.

Pop 6 advil.

Get back just in time to see Sam throw himself from the window seat again.

Take him to kitchen. Give him ibuprofen.

Give Lily Tylenol for good measure.

Sit on the couch with both.

Catch Sam as he throws himself from couch, but knock Lily off couch in the process.

Hold both while they cry.

Cry a little too.

How long til bedtime?

+-

Dear God...

2011-01-31T07:22:00.000-08:00

Dear God,

Give me strength to love myself.
Give me strength to love myself enough.
Strength to put myself first, not last.
To put myself on the list.

Give me wisdom to know when to hang on.
And when to let go.
Give me wisdom in my love, and in my affection.
To not be desperate for acceptance.
But to know you accept me, and be still in that.

Give me love in abundance.
Give me bold in loving, in being vulnerable.
Make my hands and feet a radical tool for your work.
Let me see the soul in pain, the hurt behind the mask.

Let me be the one.
The one they come to.
The one who heals. The one who prays.
The one who listens and whispers into the brokeness-
"God loves you, so so much."

Let me remember to say it to myself.
Let me BELIEVE it, Lord, please.
Let me let go. Let me be healed.
Let me be free.

I want to hear you.
Your words.
I want to listen, and not overcome it with my own thinking.
I am weary of fighting with myself.
I am tired.

I want to be wholly yours.
In every way.
Not just in what I give to others,
but what I also give to MYSELF.

Please help me to give myself what I need.
Health.
Happiness.
Kind thoughts.
Kind words.

Let your love for me be something I believe.
A gift I give to myself.
Let me see myself through your eyes.
Let me do your work, including loving myself as you do.
Seeing myself as you do.

Beauty is many things.
But nobody is more beautiful than when they beleive God loves them
And I believe.

Samuel Elijah

2011-01-21T06:25:00.000-08:00

Dear Sam,

One year. I still can't believe it. You are a year old. I should believe it since you are the size of a 2 year old, but I don't. That's a mama for ya. :)

I can't tell you what life was like before you. It was wonderful and beautiful with our sweet Lily, but we were waiting for you. We prayed for you and called to your spirit, asking you to be with us.

And you did.

The day you were born was tough. The labor was difficult, and when you were born you didn't cry. We were so scared...and then you opened your tiny mouth and yelled like a lion. The next morning when I came to hold you and nurse you, I fell so deep in love with you my heart felt too big for my chest. I looked at your face, I kissed your head, and I knew that nothing in life was better than holding you. Nothing.

You are a fighter, Sammy. You had surgery at 7 months old. Your ears were so full of fluid from repeated ear infections that you couldn't hear. We were worried you wouldn't ever speak.

You have definitely proved us wrong there.

I have never known a child to be so loud. You yell. You howl. You pick up your play telephone and screech "Hoooooow?" You yell when your sister takes your toy, when we tell you no, or when things don't go your way.

But you also smile, and melt our hearts. You light up the room with your big grin. You cuddle when you are sleepy, holding your woobie to your face and falling deep into dreamland. You melt us, everyday.

You have alot of words now- Gidu "didu", hello "hoooow", all done "ahhda!", lily "eeeeleeee", mama, dada, hohoho, etc. You make signs for all done, more, drink. You communicate with grunts and head banging sometimes, and we wonder if you are part caveman. :)

You are so bold, walking into any situation without care. You lead with your head at all times, never showing the slightest bit of hesitation. You have no fear. This in turn assures I will be fully gray and daddy will be fully bald within a year.

I wish there were words for how much I love you. Some way to convey it. I can only say that I love you so deeply my heart hurts. I hold you and smell your head and my world becomes only you. I see your smiling face and I smile. You are my sweetest baby boy, and I adore you more than words can say.

Love, always and forever,
Mama

Beautiful

2011-01-19T17:20:00.001-08:00

Every morning I lay out Lily's clothes. I run my fingers over the fabrics, match her dresses to her tights, choose hairbows and shoes. She gets dressed and then comes to me with her brush.

I run my fingers through her silky hair. I brush, I braid. I kiss her head and then say "Okay, turn around."

She does, preening a bit. And always she asks me "Mama, do I look beautiful?"

And of course I say yes, because her face and her eyes and her lips and her smile are beautiful.

She asked me today what made her beautiful. I quickly told her God did, and shuffled her off to school.

But I kept returning to her question. It was deeper than the words. She wanted to know what beauty IS.

In this I struggle. I want to explain it to her, but how do you explain beauty in words a 3 year old can understand?

I want her to know that it is pleasing that she has a pretty face. Her beauty is external, but that what is so important is her soul.

Beauty is her face when she sees a friend and she lights up.

Beauty is her compassion when somebody she cares for is sad.

Beauty is the turn of her head into my chest as she snuggles.

It's the way she picks a flower for her neighbors.

The way her little soul opens to the world, always loving, always giving.

It's in the way she calls out "I love you!!!" to everyone.

It's in her pretty almond eyes filled with tears when she is being reprimanded.

It's her hand in mine, her kiss on my cheek, her whispered secrets.

It is her.

Beauty is fluid. It is an ever shifting idea. I could tell her of what society thinks is beautiful, but she will come upon that soon enough.

For now, I will show her that beauty is more about what your life IS than what you look like. It is in the love you give, and the light of God you show. It is in the openess of your smile, the work of your hands, and the willingness of your spirit to be shaped.

It is in being broken, mended, and broken again.

It's scars and bruises and remembered pain.

It's in the love others show her and the things they teach her.

It's in nature, the changing of seasons, the gunmetal sky, the buttery sun.

Beauty is, and she is beauty.

one, uno, 1

2011-01-17T17:29:00.000-08:00

I want to tell you what this last year has meant to me.

But everytime I sit down to write it out, I cry.

My baby. Likely the last one I will have, is one.

Time passing is both blessing and curse.

I love him so much my heart hurts.

My Sammy. My moose. My cheescake. My son.

One.

Daddy

2011-01-13T06:47:00.000-08:00

Dear Daddy,

You may never read this, and that's okay. But I know you know I love you. I have always loved you. The devotion I feel to you is a broken thing. It lies like sand in my hands. But it is tangible, and real. My love has never diminished. Never.

And so here it is, what I need to do. I forgive you, Daddy. It doesn't mean the lonely times you could have saved me from didn't exist. It doesn't make it right, and it doesn't change the wounds. But it means that I will no longer spend any time trying to figure out how to make you see how wrong you were, or to punish you by my silence.

I will simpy love you until I do not draw breath. And after that, when I walk in the golden kingdom, I will see your face. And all of the troubles and feelings that lie between us and keep us apart will no longer exist. We will be in a place where all of those things get washed away.

I will run to you. I will wrap my arms around you, lay my head on your chest, and allow myself to need you. I will weep with joy at your face, your beloved face. I will be your little girl, and all of the things that keep me from being that now will be gone.

There will be peace between us now. It begins with me. I am making peace right now with knowing you will never be what I need. I am surrendering to loving you how you need, without being loved that way in return. I surrender to the hurt in my heart, the heaviness, and the pain. But I no longer will give bitterness sanctuary. I will no longer harbor anger.

In the end, Daddy, this is what I can give you. My love, without my disappointment. My forgiveness without bitterness. I will simply let you be who you are, and love you around the parts that hurt.

I accept all of you. All of your flaws. I love all of you. I forgive your shortcomings. And I ask you to forgive me my silence, and for the years I wasted in anger.

I don't know why we were chosen for each other. We have never met each other's needs. But I do know that this love I have for you is real, and I want us to make the best of whatever time God gives us.

Love,
Critter

Three

2011-01-11T07:00:00.001-08:00

I've been doing alot of thinking. And alot of praying. I've been storm tossed on this little boat of faith I posses. Wondering what I am doing here. Where I belong.

At least to Whom I belong I am pretty clear.

Last night as I was falling asleep, I kept being pushed awake by panic. I'd dip under, surface again. Dip, surface. Finally I opened my eyes and heart to God and was quiet.

And into my silent and still brain and body slipped 3 words.

Patience.

Vanity.

Worth.

My three struggles. Whispered in the dark and silent night. I looked out the window at the storm tossed sky, the iced over ground, the icy air. Treacherous. Dangerous.

Just like my three struggles.

Patience is not my forte. I am impatient, and it makes me unkind. I snap. I raise my voice. And worse, I feel entitled to do so. After all, I am the mother. It is my responsibility to see that things go smoothly. But I crush little hearts in the process. I chip at souls. What is a momentary frustration to me, can be a wound that festers for them. I need to lead by example. Stop. Breathe. Teach. Love.

Discipline is essential. But temperance is as well.

Vanity. Ugh, it's hard to be transparent on this one. But I just KNOW somebody else struggles with this.

Every single day I get up and hate what I see in the mirror. The fat, unmadeup me. And I mean hate. I treat myself badly. I rip myself up. I flinch at the reflection.

I hate God's creation of me. I hate my body and my hair and my face.

So I hide it. I layer myself under makeup. I put on jewelry. I buy clothing that conceals.

I hide.

And I hide behind having a perfect house. And perfectly dressed and combed children.

I hide. I hide in my own skin. I cover myself with the artificial. And the real me becomes lost.

The me God created is painted over with my creation of self.

And if the truth be told I hide myself behind fat and food.

God created me to do his work. And I cannot do it in an unhealthy body. I also won't spend hours sculpting it into something somebody else considers beautiful. That's covering up God's beauty with man's.

Worth is all tied up in the patience and vanity. Because if I am impatient, if I hurt my family with words, my idea of my worth plummets. If somebody sees me without my mask of makeup and perfection, I fall.

And in all of this- who am I trying to impress? The world? What will the world do for me if I am skinnier, prettier? If my children behave because they are afraid of me? What will the world do for me then?

Nothing.

But if I listen to God, what does He tell me. That my beauty has nothing to do with what I see in the mirror. That I can rest all of myself in His care. That He KNOWS me. And that He loves me.

THAT is my worth. To live each day to make my world better. Nothing I wear, no time I take on my appearance will make my world better. Raising my children with gentle hands, treating my husband like a friend, doing anything and everything for my neighbors and friends that I can- all of this leads to a freedom of soul I long for.

To live each and everyday for everyone I love and care for is where my worth resides.

And I am up to the challenge.

A World Away

2011-01-03T17:48:00.000-08:00

Did you go to church yesterday? Did you soak in the love of our God, lift your voice in song, take communion?

Did you close your eyes in prayer, and open them to the sound of glass breaking, of screaming, of the scent of blood?

Did you see the blood and bodies of your fellow worshippers before you?

Did you cry out, go to your knees?

No?

Your fellow brothers and sisters in Christ did.

This is Alexandria, Egypt on New Year's day. This is a Coptic church. A christian church. Where men and women just like you were worshipping with their families. With their babies. They went to begin the new year with God.

As they were singing hymns, a bomb went off, killing 21 of them. Injuring many others.

It is a world away. But distance does not change the heart or the faith. These are God's children. His beloved creation, massacred.

They lie still now. Some of them cannot be found at all. Their bodies were obliterated by hate. Their families mourn. Their children weep.

It is a world away, and yet, it is right here on our doorstep. Because we are all one. If one of the collective is taken, we mourn. We feel it. Their blood is our blood, because it is all Christ's blood.

Christ shed blood for all of us. And all of us who love Him, belong to one another.

Do not turn away from this. Do not pretend it does not matter. Lift your voice to heaven. Pray for those who are left here, in this time, when killing His children just for loving Him is real. Is happening. Right in front of us.

Don't turn away.

It's a world away. And yet, my friends, it could be us. It IS me. This is my adopted faith. This is the faith I was baptized in, married in. This is the faith that my children were baptized in.

This is my faith. This is a faith so ardent in it's love for God that it has not changed since the Ascension. A faith so strong, that the priests came from behind the altar doors after the blast, and began comforting and signing the cross over the people. They also finished mass...because God is more important than fear.

A faith so strong that they will not allow the blood of the dead to be cleaned from the stone of the church. They won't let it be washed away. It remains. They honor it. It is pure.

It is a world away, and yet...it is right here, in our hearts. Because they are us. And they continue to love the God we love, despite being persecuted for it. Despite the danger.

They continue, despite the blood. Despite the pain and the fear. They bow their heads to God.

Please bow your heads with them. Lift the Copts of Egypt in prayer.

11, or 12. Whatever.

2011-01-01T09:43:00.000-08:00

As the bowl swirls...

2010-12-31T10:07:00.000-08:00

Once upon a bowl, there was a daddy.

He felt all alone.

His wife felt alone too.

She took care of the babies alone.

Went places alone

She tried to explain to the children that daddy had a disorder.

Daddy was sad.

And cold, too.

Until one day, the daddy drove himself to the hardware store and got wheels for his potty!

And voila! Now he could join his family for birthday parties!

He could read his daughter a bedtime story- "What exactly IS irritble bowl syndrome?"

And then he could lay down his tired head. Well, kinda.

Neither one was lonely anymore. And so what if they had to wear lotsa perfume to hid the stench, they were together.

Daddy could even work!

And watch his favorite shows!

Mommy even convinced him to do dishes.

He took the kids to the park!

And joined them on family outings

A happy family is one that can be together!

And they all flushed happily ever after.

This side of heaven

2010-12-29T05:39:00.000-08:00

I cannot explain the heaviness of my heart right now. My spirit is defeated. I am weary, I am sad.

My friend lost her baby. A wanted and loved baby. A baby created in love. A baby that would be born into a loving family.

I have a friend that is having trouble conceiving. A friend that has lost baby after baby. A friend that lost her baby in the middle of pregnancy, after it was safe to "relax".

It's just so unfair. SO UNFAIR. And I am angry.

Why, God? Why?

There is no answer on this earth that is sufficient. None. No mother should lose a child. No mother should grieve for her babies. Children should bury their parents. Period.

The only place to turn in this is to faith. And in faith, there are few answers, only comfort. But we want to know, don't we? We want to KNOW. And we don't. And we won't, until we see Jesus.

It's enough to make me want to scream.

It's hard not to look at news stories of people abusing and killing their children and become bitter that those I love lose their babies, cannot conceive their babies. It's hard to not become hard hearted.

It's hard not to think of Joshua, whose little remains lie under the statue of St Mary in my backyard.

And then I look at Sam. And I know, I know, that there is a form of redemption on this side of heaven. There is some comfort before the passing.

But still...those sweet babies.

Because they were loved before they were conceived. They were loved before they had a heartbeat. They were wanted and treasured when they were just an idea. They were PEOPLE. They were children. Babies. Beloved and longed for.

And they are gone. Swept to heaven before they drew breath.

If you are reading this right now, and you have lost a baby, I want you to know just how sorry I am. How I feel, deep down in the sacred spaces of my heart, I feel that pain with you. I will carry it with you. I will remember your babies with you.

I cannot offer you any comfort other than the knowledge that you are not alone. God draws close to the brokenhearted. He is there. He mourns with us for what has been lost. And He is not intimidated by our anger, our disappointment, or our grief.

There are no answers this side of heaven. And it is unfair. It is wrong.

But it will be redeemed. One day we will know why. One day we will hold our lost babies. One day it will all make sense.

One day.

Until then, let's carry our burden together. Rememeber our babies together. Because you are not truly ever gone unless you are forgotten.

It will never make it right. But maybe it will make it bearable. Maybe.

Google search: baby video monitors

2010-12-28T07:17:00.000-08:00

*We are lounging on the couch, listening to the kids playing in their playroom upstairs. Mark is messing with his phone (aka the mistress), and I am doing random google searches on my laptop and pretending to be uber busy.

There is an ominus thud from upstairs....then, silence.

I look up at Mark.*

Babe?
Honey?
Babe?
Yo, Said!!!
MARK!

*At this he looks up, glassy eyed.*

Can you check on the kids? I'm really busy here.

(Google search: 12 step programs for Angry Birds addicts)

*He thinks for a minute.*

(Google search: What to do if smoke comes out of someone's ears.)

Lily?

Yessssss?

Is Sam okay?

Ummmmmmmmm...

(Google search: First Aid for bonehead moms and dads.)

*Mark keeps thinking.*

Lily?

Yessssss?

Is Sam bleeding?

(Google search: Applying a torniquet.)

No!

Okay, good.

*Thinking continues.*

(Google search: 10 signs your spouse is an evil mastermind.)

Lily?

Yesssss dada?

Is Sam sleeping?

Ummmmmm, no!

Good. Carry on.

Okay, dada.

*He tips his coffee cup to me with a grin and goes back to Angry Birds.*

I sigh.

(Google search: How not to be ashamed that your husband is smarter than you.)

12.25.10

2010-12-25T07:05:00.000-08:00

Did the cattle lowing
cause him to stir
to open his sweet eyes
and did she look at Him
so small
so vulnerable
and weep for his great power
this one who lived within her
would save her
this one who lived within her
would die for her
and she knew as she held his sweet hands
as she heard the angels sing
and listened to the world rejoice
she knew
that the being she held
was man
and more than man
was the beginning
and the end
as she held him
nestled in the hay, laid among the animals of the stable
did she see her future
did she know that because of him
and because she carried him
she would live forever?
the same eyes she gazed into
she would see close for the last time
the same body she bathed
she would bathe when it held no breath
the same toes she counted
she would see cling to the stones of Calvary
would see graze the wood of the cross
the head she kissed
she would see pierced and bleeding
and the ears she whispered into
would hear mocking
but she knew
that he was
messiah
king
savior
come to her, through her
to be with her
to save her
there, among the beasts of the stable
she held her king

Merry Christmas

A cry in the night...

2010-12-16T11:02:00.001-08:00

It is 12:30 AM, a bare hour after I have fallen asleep. The cry is sharp and unrelenting, the kind that won't stop without intervention. The intervention, is, of course, mama.

We get up, warm the bottle, and I send Mark back to bed while I cuddle my boy. He lays his head on my chest, drowsily clutching his woobie. He drinks, he sleeps. I lay him back down and stumble back to bed.

It is 1:30. She is next to me. "MAMA!". She is scared. I lead her back to bed. She insists that her pj's are bugging her. I remove the pj's, redress her, and order her to go back to sleep.

I take a handful of motrin, go back to bed.

It is 3:30. She is next to me. "MAMA, where is St.Mary?" Her statue that she prays to when she wakes up in the night. She has left it next to me on her last trip in. I pick it up, take her back to bed where I threaten to return all of her Christmas gifts if she wakes me one more time. I am only half joking.

I go back to bed.

I lay there, seething. Why? Why do they have to wake me up? Why can I not just get ONE NIGHTS SLEEP!? And why does my throat still hurt? And why is it so cold in here?

And then, I stop.

I am in a warm bed. My husband is beside me. Granted he is snoring like a howitzer, but he is there. My children are healthy, if not good sleepers.

And it all changes in a blink. I think about how one day I will be sitting on the couch, coffee in hand, waiting for them to get up. How I will struggle not to reach out and fix her hair or straighten his shirt. How I will miss all of these small things- bathing them, feeding them, wiping their tears. It won't be like this forever. They won't be little and they won't wake up and want me.

I thought of all of this, lying there. I thought of God, and I smiled as I changed my complaining to praise. I thanked him for every whimper and every disturbance.

And like an arrow cast into my mind I heard- "Every cry in the night is a victory for you as a mother. It means your children know they will be answered."

Like I never knew.

It means I have crossed the divide between what I was shown and what I will live. I have soaked in the great grace of God and am parenting from a place of faith and grace, not from a place of conditioning. I have learned at the feet of the One.

Because when I cry out in the night, He answers. And until my children can put their own face on God, I am it. I am responsible to show them who He is.

The cries in the night will come. And I will come to them and carry them out of the dark. I will hold them until their fear is gone. I will comfort and shelter.

Just as He does for me.

Bittersweet

2010-12-08T18:17:00.001-08:00

The house is quiet, the sky just beginning to lighten to pearl. I wake to the sound of stirring, sleepy baby murmurs over the monitor. I tiptoe in and pick his sleepy heavy body up. I smell his neck, nestle him into me. He is heavy, damp with sweet sleepy sweat, and warm.

His eyes open slightly, and he smiles around his binky. My heart melts on a wave of love so intense it takes my breath.

I lay down with him, running my fingertips over his soft face, gently taking out his binky. I watch as his hands move up, reaching for me, his lips open in search of my breast.

He latches on for the last time, and I cry quietly, great wracking sobs that hurt my chest. I whisper, over and over, how much I love him. I tell him what a great privilege it has been to nourish him, and how grateful I am that he allowed me to feed him from my body. I rub his head, his earlobes. My tears fall onto his face and hands.

I tell him how much I have loved nursing him. I feel the last milk I will ever give him leave my breast. He becomes sleepy again, his hand lying limp on my chest, his eyes closed in peace. I whisper of how sorry I am that I cannot give him more time to breastfeed, how I have to choose myself now, but how much I am going to miss it, and how heartbreaking it is for me to have to stop.

I know it's right. He has been self weaning for quite a while now. He has been supplementing more and more. He is busy, too busy to nurse. He loves his cups and his bottles. He likes to sit up and see the world as he has his milk.

But still, he would lie down with me a few times a day. He would nurse, and let me enjoy the stillness of his little body. It was beautiful and sacred. I never took it for granted, ever.

But in order to nurse him, I have had to be on medication so sedating that it has been hard to function. I've been on meds for my blood pressure that simply don't work well for me.

But I was determined to nurse. And I did. For him and for myself.

My heart literally hurts with the choice I have had to made. My body yearns to go in to him, pick him up, and nourish him. But I can't. New medication means a happier, more energetic me...but the cost is breastfeeding.

I know, I know. I gave him nearly 11 months. It was time. He was ready. But I wasn't, despite the obvious need of my body to switch meds. I wasn't ready to have to give up something so precious to me.

But I did. I made the choice. This morning at 6:12 AM, I nursed my precious boy for the very last time. I enjoyed every moment. I treasured the scent of his skin, the push and pull of his latch. I ingrained in my mind the feeling of milk leaving me and going to him. I kissed him a million times, and thanked God for the miracle of breastfeeding.

And when I laid him back down, I watched him for a few minutes. I looked at his full cheeks, his chubby legs. I cried as I ran a hand over his full tummy. I asked his forgiveness for the choice I made.

And then I poured a glass of water, and took the medication that will hopefully change my life.

At 6:12 this morning, I chose myself. But I will never forget the blessing of breastfeeding.

Blood

2010-12-03T11:54:00.000-08:00

Last night I dreamed of blood. Blood on my hands. My hands on an object. The object rounded, ripe as fruit. Blood ran over my fingertips, stung my nose with it's heady fragrance of copper and wine. I sat with it coursing warm over my flesh, spilling over my wrists. It was warm, nearly hot.

I dug in with my fingertips. I scratched with my fingernails, pieced away at something that bled in running courses until warmth covered my arms, my lap. It touched my bare feet. I twisted them together against the floor, tapping my toes in sticky warm saltiness.

Pain bloomed hot and silent in my chest, twirling away from my center in tendrils. I raised a bloody hand to my breast and felt the ragged emptiness there.

My heart, then.

I lay both hands on my heart, lying silent and still on the table in front of me. I picked it up, soft and light as a dove. My fingers ran over the grooves and cupped it's curving arches, traced it's fleshy exterior.

I saw the malignancy inside. The trapped and glistening blue black of sickness. The bitterness, entrapped in the flesh. I dug my thumbs in. I worked at the mass with desperate intent as pain touched me. My body begged for the return of it's heart, agonizing ropes of feeling pulling at my lips.

I wanted to scream. I didn't. I dug my fingers in deeper, tearing tender flesh. Blood bloomed again and again. My vision was scarlet stained.

A voice.

I did not look up. I knew who stood there.

I bent again to my task, my hair tangled about my face, pooling in the blood.

A hand in my field of vision. I jerked away.

I didn't want to let go. This was mine, this pain. Mine to keep, mine to remove.

Mine.

A hand on my head, the touch as warm as fire. Comforting. I hunched, cold and still over my burden. I held on with two hands to my wound, though I was bleeding.

Two hands closed over mine. They held mine as softly as air. His hands became stained as well. I tried to protest, to pull them away. But He held firm.

"Not just yours." He said.

My hands opened, the small bird of my heart sitting cold within. Drained of life, it was an empty stone. Darkness massed inside. I tired to cover it with my thumbs. His touched brushed them away.

"I see it."

He touched the dark mass. Under his fingers it rose like a flower, pushing from it's prison. It bloomed under his touch, becoming more than it was. He shaped it, slowly as I watched. Smoothed it over as it rooted deep again.

Blood flowed. Scarlet and magenta and onyx entwined. The mass of bruised and battered pain settled like a night blooming flower. It became part of my flesh.

He held my heart, smoothing his thumbs over it. His fingertips grazed every surface. My hands fell away.

I looked up only once, as he gently tucked away my burden. My chest rose and fell as my hand felt what had been ragged.

Smooth unblemished skin. A steady bump of life beneath.

I opened my lips to speak. Words failed beneath the kindess of his face.

My hand remained against my chest, over what had been. Over the healed pain. Over the brokeness.

It Coulda Been Worse

In the light

Tunnel

Samuel

Still

By the light of my IV bag...

Off the rails

2.17.07

Trashed

Head shrinker

Sing, sing, sing...

Sponsored by saltines and rum

Bypassed

Blessed

St Mary

A rant.

Dust

What I know.

The Jar

Pass or fail.

A trip to the grocery store with Mark

Freaking Out!

Lily

The diff

Friend...

So.

Sanctuary

Commitment

Joshua Lee

9-12-01

911

Life breaks

35 and 350

Three Five

Journey

The Magic of Belief

Not one moment.

The answer

Promise

RISE ABOVE

She would have been 63

Lily

The Battle

Things I have said today:

His

Diving

An Open Letter...

Fathers Day 2011

Perspective

Happy Pills

Marked

Caught

Sunday morning...

Brooklyn "InDaHouse" Said- 5.21.11

I am a Christian

Truth

Mother's Day

Redeemed

I ran.

It's not over.

Yes, this is a rant.

The Bitterness of the Sweet

Halfway/ All the Way

Women need Women

Dear Lily...

Avalanche

Michelle

An open letter to any new, old, or soon to be friends.

The Big Kids Playground

The love is worth it

Ordinary is not enough.

Pizza 5 dollars. Vomit, free.

Love...

I can't

Hands

I do...promise to rewrite my vows.

Bread of Life

Don't Look at Me

Love Story

Dig