Given

She stood, in a dress with feathers. Smiling at those in the room around her. My heart was filled with love for this dear sweet friend as we celebrated her birthday.

Her daddy spoke. How proud he was. How much he loved her. Her mom spoke. How she treasured her.

And a little place in my heart that stays out of the light opened. It's a deep place. Full of sadness. The despair of a forgotten little girl lingers there. She longs for someone, anyone to choose her. To love her. To be proud of her. She longs for her mother and father to give her the things the world does not- safety, acceptance, and peace.

This place is one that stays hidden, closed away by a Savior that washed it clean and set it aside.

But sometimes the door opens. And stays that way for a while. I know in these times that this pain is important to sit with.

Some people believe that God washes away pain, and that it stays away forever- that it is forever healed. That is not true for me. In my case, the anger and sadness come back from time to time. But like everything else in my life, the pain is an amazing teacher.

I am sad that I have never had what so many others have. I am angry that I was cheated of these things. I am angry that I spent so much time feeling unsafe that even now as an adult I have to work through issues of debilitating anxiety and depression.

I am disappointed that God did not save me from these things.

And I also have a God that is not intimidated by the anger or sadness that keeps others away. He isn't put off by tears. He isn't fooled by the facade I put on for others.

He is not angered by my disappointment. He is not vengeful at my questioning of his plan.

I don't know the answers to why some have love and some do not. I don't know why some have childhoods of safety and sunshine while others have to fight tooth and nail for scraps of happiness.

I used to be envious of these other people. I used to be jealous. Ugly ugly emotions that can trap you into a cycle of feeling sorry for yourself. A cycle of questioning your own worth. Of validating yourself by how others have valued you.

The truth is, I was not treasured by my parents. I was not kept safe. At times, I doubt if I was loved.

But.

When I feel this way, I remember this: I am cherished by a Savior that died for me. He has walked with me every single step. He has followed when I turned away. He has waited when I strayed. He has welcomed me back when I ran to Him, desperate for love.

And I also remember what He has given to me:

Panic

You are driving the speed limit.

The windows are down.

It's a beautiful day.

Your children are in the back of your car chatting to each other.

You drive through an intersection, look to your left and see a semi just yards away, getting ready to slam into you and your family.

Close your eyes.

Can you feel that? That rush of adrenaline, the sweaty palms, churning stomach, swirling head? Can you feel the racing heart and the weakness in your body?

That feeling right there is what an anxiety is.

I know. Because I've been having an ongoing dance with anxiety for the past month.

This isn't the first time I've gone 10 rounds with panic. I've done my fair share of time fighting this particular demon.

However, this time it is prolonged. It is severe. And it is debilitating.

I am still functioning. I can get up, take care of my kids, and appear to be my normal self. But underneath the exterior I show everyone else, I am in an almost constant state of panic.

It comes from nowhere, slams me down and holds me there. A wave of panic so severe that I want to run far far away.

Ive tried everything to stop it. I've hidden it from almost everyone.

I've been ashamed. After all, it seems so self indulgent. So selfish. So petty and small.

I'm a seasoned pro at pretending everything is okay. And I've hidden it well.

But hiding it makes it worse. Imagine being in a room full of people you love where you are safe...and yet feeling like you are drowning. Lonely is not the word for that feeling.

This didn't come out of nowhere.

There are life changes behind this anxiety. Tough times. There is alot I have buried that my writing has begun to dig up.

As with anything hard, I have learned that God teaches through it.

I'm just waiting to learn.

(hint hint, God. Go ahead and school me, already!)

I am also a pro at never ever wanting to burden anyone. And never ever wanting to accept help.

But I am learning that I can't do that anymore. The people I have been given in my life are there for a reason. For me to serve.

And also, at times like these, to be served in turn.

So. In the past few days I have been saying- "I am scared. I need help. I don't know what to do."

And you know what? Nobody has rolled their eyes. Nobody has sighed and thought me dramatic. Nobody has acted as if I was being foolish.

All anybody has said is- "I am here for you."

So maybe God has already taught me part of this lesson- that pride and friendship cannot go hand in hand. That asking for help is an important part of my spiritual walk. And that being humble often includes admitting you are troubled and in need of prayer and love.

I can't say when and if this will end. Will it be with new medication? Will it be when our troubles are lightened? Will it be when life settles and I can see the light again?

I just don't know.

But what I do know is that I am not alone in this darkness. I have people who love me enough to walk with me until the light shines again, until this panic subsides.

They are willing to love me even when I am not the person they knew. They are willing to wait and pray until I return to myself.

I hope that when that happens, I will have learned what God is trying to teach me.

Worn

Flags at half mast.
News stories with small faces.
Babies being laid to rest.
Mothers in terror of sending their children to school.
Conversations about gun control.
Images of candles. Stuffed animals. Shrines to the lost.

It's so much. It HURTS. My heart beats with fear and worry and pain.
And in this collective grief, over all, is a mother's wailing.
Their babies are gone. Never to return to this earth.
Why, God, why?
I don't understand.
Everyday it becomes worse. These feelings of being absolutley wrecked by this world.

But.
This is the world we have been given. This is the world we are expected to live in, to learn from, and bring light to.
Even when it seems impossible. Even when the light, to ourselves, is hard to see.
We are commanded to be light.
In the darkness, light.
And there is no time darker.
And no time better for us to rise up and light the way.
So I say this- take the burden.

Carry the pain for these other mothers like us. Pick it up. Take the pain. Feel it. Feel it with them, carry it with them, and pray for their strength.
In all times, when you think of babies being lost to evil, pray to carry some of the grief for these mothers like us.
So in the times they break, in the times they feel alone and like giving up, they may feel a piece of the light. That they may feel carried in some small way.
That they may feel Him. His presence. An onrush of grace, a peace that surpasses.

Look at your home. Your Christmas tree. Your stockings, your gifts, your wreaths. It is all celebrating this one thing- Christ came. For you, for us.
For those babies. For their mothers, their fathers. For the city of Newtown.

It is all about Him.
His life began.
His life ended.
All for us.

We are oh so weary. All of us. Weary and grieving. But there are those that are broken where we are not.
Share that light with those that have none. Carry the burden of grief for those overwhelmed.
Rise up, beloved. Rise up and fight for those that cannot. Put on the armor of Christ and carry them.
Light into darkness.

Tomorrow

I look at her face. So sweet. Big eyes, round cheeks, ready smile. I feel her heart beat as I hold her. I smell her sweet head, rub her small back. I brush her hair and I help her dress.

And I am so so sad. I am mournful. I am picturing her, and her friends. I am picturing the terror and the fear and the crying.

I am picturing the empty room. And the empty arms. And the empty heart.

Some say after a tragedy like this- dont put yourself in that place. Don't think about it as it relates to your child.

I don't have that skill. I can't not feel it or think it. I can't not grieve with those mothers. I can't.

I can't not look at the pictures of those slain little babies and NOT memorize their faces and their names. Because I am a mother. And I have a child that age. And because I am human.

I will not turn away. I will not pretend it didn't happen. Because I am in this world to learn and be taught. And things like this- horrific, horrible things- these things teach. And they move us to change ourselves. The lessons are hard and terrible. And the change can be very very difficult. But it is important to witness it and let it move you in the way God wants it to.

I am afraid. I am prayerful, but I am afraid. I don't want to send Lily to school tomorrow. I don't want to let go of her hand and let her run into a place that is beyond my control. But if I don't- if I don't do it- does evil win?

This is so so hard.

Hardest of all is what I am sure many of us parents feel- God, where were you? How could You let this happen? For that question, I have no answers. I am angry. I am angry that He did not intervene. I am angry that He didn't stop the bullets, stop the killing, and keep those percious babies with their parents.

But I also know that it is not up to me to know why. Evil exists. Evil does what evil does- it crushes. It kills. And it causes pain. Why this happens, I am not given to know.

The worst thought, the most painful thought-if it could happen there...it could happen here. It could be my child's school. Her class...it could be her.

Tomorrow will come. With it's uncertainty. With it's fear. I will drive her to school. I will walk her to the crosswalk. I will kiss her. I will let go of her hand.

And like all mothers, I will not breathe until I hold her again.

God help us.

Friendship

Healing from the past is something I never really thought about. I've never actively sought it, never chased it, never pursued it. Not because it wasn't important, but because it seemed somewhat impossible. An insurrmountable task.

I don't believe you truly heal from childhood abuse. You just learn to deal with it in your own way. I feel tremendously lucky that my own way did not involve drugs or alcohol, because it easily could have. My way has been to feel the feelings the past brings up, deal with the flashbacks, pray to my Savior, and move on.

However, once I became a mom the game changed. Motherhood brings up a whole subset of feelings every single day. I return with vivid clarity to my own childhood in ways that are bitter and hard. For the most part I feel I shield my children from those feelings. But sometimes I can't. And I wonder alot of times if I am ruining them. Am I creating chaos in their minds and hearts? Am I too harsh, too overbearing, too loud, too strict? Or do I let them get away with too much for fear of being like my own mother?

It's alot like walking a tightrope. While holding an elephant. And juggling swords. Balance is difficult.

Enter my mama friends.

I have never, ever, been a girl's girl. I have never truly liked women. Then I became a mom, and got a small taste of what mama friends can give- sympathy, compassion, a kind word, an ear.

I was hooked from my very first mama friendship.

Mama friends can give me something nobody else in my life has- nurturing. Knowledge that the mistakes I make are normal, everyday mistakes. That the way I parent is honest and real. And that I can mess up horribly and still be a good mom.

I sat today in the bright sunshine holding a baby that was not my own as a friend chased Sammy through the grass. I kissed her little one as she corrected mine's bad behavior with love and kindness. I watched with my mama friends as our kids rode their scooters, ate their lunches, and played together.

And I realized just how deeply in love I am with this circle of wonderful women.

Falling in love with my husband was easy. It was beautiful and passionate.

Falling in love with my children was instant and overwhelming.

But falling in love with other women has been hard, difficult, and entirely worth it.

These women who I call friends love my children like I do. They are honest with me when I ask questions. They laugh with me until we cry. They cry with me until we laugh. They celebrate every single thing in my life- from new babies to potty training, to weight loss. They are truly happy for my sucesses and truly help me carry my burdens.

And I looked around today and realized just how deep I am. How in love I am with this circle of amazing women.

We build each other up. We support each others lives. And we do not backbite or gossip. I have confidence that they do not speak of me out of my presence as they do when I am listening.

I know how rare this is. And I want to make sure that I put this right here, right now. How rich I feel in friendships. How much I love my girls. How deeply I feel blessed and uplifted by them. And how they mean the world to me.

Because let's face it. Things happen. Misunderstandings. Hurt feelings. Careless words. Hurt is a part of love. And where there is deep love, the injury can be profound.

But nothing on this earth- no hurt or pain could take away what they have given me. They heal me of my past. They hold the mirror up to me, to see that I am a good mother. That I am not what my past taught me I was. That I can be vulnerable. I can put my hurt and fear and worry out there, and instead of using it as a weapon, they will help me carry it.

My friend told me today that she felt so strongly about her female friendships that it made her cry. I knew exactly what she meant. Sometimes the depth of my love for these women and their babies is scary. There's so much to lose. So much that can be broken. So much that can be lost.

But in these friendships I have found my footing not only as a woman but as a mother. They are an anchor on the sea that tosses me from thought to thought. They ground me and center me and help me to see my way. They pull away what I THINK I am, and show me what I TRULY am.

So for my girlies- the ones who I see everyday as we walk our babies into school, or the ones I see back home, or the ones I see never but hold in my heart, I love you. You have helped me, each in your own way, to understand myself better and to heal myself of all that the past had broken. I feel rich because of you- my life has a depth I would have never known had you not come to me. You teach me. You give me love. And you are special and treasured.

“A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow.” ― William Shakespeare

“There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.” ― Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

Dear Lily

Dear Lily,

Sometimes I wonder when you will stop loving me. When you will no longer look at me with eyes that shine with joy, when you will lose your taste for me, for being mothered. I wonder when you will become as other girls are, offended by my presence, wishing I would back away and be silent.

Wishing I was not there.

I know this will happen. It is the tide of mother daughter relationships. It is the ebb and flow of the most devoted and complicated of family ties.

I never expected to need you so much. To see your face and feel love so strongly that I could die for you. To smell your hair and close my eyes and feel you again, so warm and new on my chest. So known and unknown all at once.

You spend your day away from me now. In a classroom filled with children and people I do no know well. This strikes me as odd and sad- the idea of sending you off to be among strangers because you are five. But it is the way. It is what is done. No matter that it hurts and that it seems so cold.

I feel like I have been robbed of you in this way. In these hours you are gone you are learning and growing without me. And it feel like loss. It feels a little like grief. It is good and right and wise to let you go. But it is, at the same time, a death of what came before. The hours of you and me. The hours of your hand in mine, your coloring books, your voice singing, and your head nodding as you feel asleep against me.

You are a once my baby and at once your own person, figuring out the world for yourself. You ask questions I cannot answer. You give answers I cannot bear. Yet you still at the end of the day curl yourself like a kitten into my lap for a snuggle and a story. You still want to be held and kissed. I beg all of heaven you never lose that, Lily. Because I need it as much as you do.

Just yesterday you had a consequence for lying. And afterwards, I cried with you. I let the tears of hurt and pain flow, because I knew you needed to see them. I knew that without these tears he impact of your actions would be unclear to you. You sat on my lap, crying all the harder for seeing me cry. You rushed to get me tissue. You dried my tears with your little hands. You SAW what needed to be seen. I was proud of you in the moment for your clarity and your compassion.

I miss you. I miss the baby girl who would fill my days with laughter and joy. I miss my sweet unburdened girl who hadn't a care. You are different now- mature. You think of schoolwork and of things beyond your own happiness. This is good as well, but it is still hard.

I want you to know that I miss you. I want you to know that I think of you every minute of the day- wondering if you need me. If you are wishing for me. I pray every morning that your day be filled with learning. That you are treated kindly. And that you are kind in return.

But I am not complete until I see your little face waiting for me. I am not whole until I turn to kiss you as you get into the car. In some ways I am holding my breath until I see you and have you safe with me.

I hope above all that I am getting this right. That although I walk this road of motherhood in the dark when it seems like all others around me are in daylight, I am choosing the right things for you. I hope that you can say someday that although I made mistakes, I always loved you. I always gave you enough affection and enough care.

It's three hours until I see your face again. And until then I will wait and wish and love you.

Always,
Mama

Thank you, Lord.

Dear Lord,

Thank you for failure. For the feeling in me that I am not enough, not doing enough, not working hard enough.

Thank you for helping me to feel that I am not mom enough. Not woman enough. That my struggle to be all to all is simply a failure.

Thank you for iniquity. Thank you for frustration. Thank you for uncertainty.

Thank you for always humbling me when I feel like supermom.

I try so hard to be all, to do all. Perfect mom. Perfect house. Perfect world.

And every single time, I fail.

Because I am not leaning into you.

I am not in your word. I am not in your spirit. I am not drinking from your water.

I am thirsty God. I am weary. I am tired.

I cannot do this alone.

And I forget that so so often. I put you on the backburner. I run this race and chase my own shadow.

And I leave you, my Savior, behind.

And with a resounding crash, it all comes down. Crushing failure. A feeling of drowning. A reaching.

Reaching for you.

Reaching for your hand, your words and your love. Because through you I can do this.
I can be the mother I want to be. I can be the wife my husband needs. I can walk through each day knowing who I am.

Because you hold me above this world. You set me apart. In all things and all ways I am not just what this world expects me to be or wants me to be. I am your creation.

Beloved by you.

Strengthened by you.

Father, teach me to be less of myself and more of you. Pull away my need to be everything and replace it with need for you. Help me to be your face, your hands, your feet.

Help me to mother my children as you would have me do. Help me to teach them about you.

Lord by myself I am nothing. I am empty and impatient. I am unkind and sharp. With you I bloom into more than myself.

Live through me. Be with me. And always draw me back when I stray.