All Things Heathen and Santa III

It's that time of year again when I find myself standing in a ridiculously long Santa line with my 3 and 5 year old. My parents, brother and nephews joined to make it an extended family affair.  We all rotated in line and getting the kids dinner (that was a life-saver and I highly recommend it!).  I started to get annoyed at the 1-2 hour wait and then it dawned on me that I would be doing this for only another 3-5 years before they figure it out.  It was hard to believe that soon enough I would be looking at the line as I shopped with my teenagers, wishing I had little ones again. That thought helped my impatience a bit and finally it was our turn.  The girls sat and showed Santa all their wishes on their list and smiled really big for the camera.  My littlest finally sat on his lap and they truly had a magical time.  My oldest was surprised he talked! All she thought he said was "Ho Ho Ho!" And so commemorated another successful Santa trip.

This year as all of this has come around again, it dawned on me that there will be a time just as I have had where what is "real" becomes questioned.  I know they will figure out Santa has my writing and he looks different at every mall.  I know eventually they will smile and nod when I tell them this gift is from Santa.  They might hear from their school friends that he isn't real and wonder if this could be true.

What I also realized is that they will also do the same for their belief in God.  They will experience this life and wonder if He is who He says He is.  They will question His will and ways.  They will hear from their friends different beliefs or the lack thereof.  There will be a moment/moments when no matter how hard I try, all of what they know will have to be owned and truly believed by them.

You see they can get the foundation, the head knowledge, the stories.....but one day they will have to have their own relationship with God that I can't teach. My girls can watch and observe my relationship with God but I can't replicate it for them nor would I want to. This relationship, this moment where God is real to them is so personal, it's a fingerprint, a sacred secret that I can't wait for them to experience.

This world is cruel, heartless, and hard.  I can't protect them from this.  I know they will wrestle with how God fits into all of it, but another thing I know is He will always be there for them no matter what.

As I've struggled  with my own relationship with God amidst all the hurt, pain, and suffering; I have often felt weak.  Just when my questioning would get to a place of leaving the faith, I found myself surrendering to a deeper place.  Just when I realized, my God was a holy Santa I knew I was living a lie. And I had to dig, dig, dig.  I found amongst my rubble that there was a solid foundation of truth that couldn't be denied.  I may not have understood it at the time, but it was too great and obvious to walk away from.

So as my girls see the holiday magic fade away through the years, I know they will have the foundation of truth poured into their hearts.  As they question this Jesus Christ that they innocently grew to surrender to, I know in their rubble, He will be the foundation to rebuild on.  As they rebuild, I pray that they too will know and love Christ with a fierce authenticity that I am growing to love about my relationship.  I pray they understand that He is more than a wish list and that they can continually surrender to a relationship and not anything else.

So this season I will continue to stand in the Santa line, make their elaborate wish lists, and stuff their stockings.  I know this too will fade and I have a few more years of these kinds of holidays.  They might catch me touching the elf and realize my wrapping paper is the same as Santa's.  They will question how Santa can get down the chimney if there isn't one and how the elf only moves when they are sleeping.

I also know they will question how God can know everyone's thoughts, and care specifically for them and even a sparrow for that matter.  Or how He loves us despite our mistakes and lack of affection towards him.  Or how He dwells within us and in heaven. I could go on, in fact I could do this all day....

Although the month of December has its holiday magic, each day I will pour the truth of Christ into them.  I will continue to lay the foundation that will be there in their pain and struggle and I can't wait for the day that they become personal with Him through their questions and fears.  And although I can't create that relationship for them, I pray I can show them one that is vulnerable, honest, and authentic every day of every year.

Open Cabinets

While putting together a fantastic Pinterest recipe the other day, I opened the cabinets to get out the necessary spices.  After sprinkling the goodness into the pot I needed another saucepan out of the bottom cabinet.  As I read the next set of instructions, I realized I needed to get my serving spoon out of the dishwasher. Then another item out of the pantry, and another out of the silverware drawer.  As I finally finished my last touches on the meal and got it in the oven, I was exhausted.  Feeling accomplished I turned around and saw virtually every cabinet door in my kitchen open with every ingredient and utensil sprawled all over the place.  After all the work I had put into the meal, I had so much more work to do cleaning up the mess.

I realized something that day that I've never known about myself.....I hate putting things away.

I don't mind putting the clothes in the washer and dryer, washing the dishes in the dishwasher, making my favorite dinners, or going grocery shopping.  It's the aftermath of all these activities I naturally dislike.  I wasn't aware of my discontent until I discovered this pattern.  The laundry would stay in the dryer, a pile of hand-washed dishes would grow, and grocery bags would lay in the middle of my kitchen.

The task itself isn't bad, it's the extra effort it takes to follow it completely through that really gets me stuck.

And so it is my life.  I'm getting used to spilling my guts, being real and just letting it all out.  I've got everything laid out like a big fat mess all over the place.  The task of getting to this point has been difficult but now I am able to do it with ease.  Talking to "my people," getting vulnerable and authentic....dealing with my "ish" is starting to feel normal.

The recipe is complete, the hard work has been put into every detail in perfecting my meal but my cabinets are open and the messy counters are indicative of what is going on inside.

Ultimately I've become ok with the disheveled pantry and the unorganized tupperware shelf. I'm able to let my girls play with the utensils and throw them back in the drawer like a toy chest.  I'm accustomed to the chaos inside, but I've also been accustomed to hide it.

I don't want to hide my mess with closed cabinet doors because I know there is a place for everything I've put out on the table.  I almost feel like it's the home stretch, once I figure out a place to put all of my ish away, I will arrive.

But every time I clean out my cabinets, 3 months later the mess comes back, it just looks different. That's exactly how I feel.  I put things away just to find my cabinets open to a whole new mess less than a week later.  And so I become disheartened to come to the conclusion that I will always have a mess and be a mess.

Yet, as I pulled out the Pinterest masterpiece from the oven and took a warm bite of this piece of heaven I created I thought,"it was worth it".  It was worth my time and effort, my sore feet and all.  When I remember that bite of goodness I don't remember the mess I made or the clean-up I had to undertake.  I remember the experience of the final product and that made it worth every blood, sweat and tear I had endured In the creation process.

So every new chapter I face on this journey, every new discovery, post, or pain; it is a new masterpiece......a new mess.  I will take out the different ingredients the next recipe of life calls for and turn around to see the results of making it through.  Putting things away takes time and just when I put it all back where it belongs, it's time to start all over again.  So for every recipe that calls for pain, heartache, and frustration......I will look forward to saying, "it was worth it." Until then, clear the counters......I'm making a mess.

Don't Stay Strong

Don't stay strong

Recently a friend of mine had a tragic loss. After experiencing a miscarriage, was devastated and reached out to me so I could pray for her. She also admitted that several people had been telling her to "stay strong." I could tell that this stung, it slowly tore her down and saddened her inner being. She told me it brought her guilt because she knew she wasn't strong and she couldn't fix that. I completely understood.

Luckily I didn't get that wonderful (or not) nugget of advice when dealing with my own tragedy. Here's the truth, the little nugget I tell others who face hardship/trials/tragedy is "fall apart."  Make sure you cry, make sure you experience every emotion that comes. Fully embrace the anger, frustration, and pain.  Pray with it and through it. Pound the bed with clenches fists and scream in your pillow.  Cry until no more tears come, raise your fist to the ceiling, beg God for mercy. Don't be strong.

I forced myself to so this, I completely fell apart and was a shell of my former self. Screw being strong. There is no way. I would be fake and phony and a complete fraud. I.just.couldn't.

But I battled the "Christian me." I would never allow myself to fall apart. I was strong because I felt I had to be. I felt that I wouldn't be someone that completely relies on God. I really wanted to keep it together so that others would see how awesome God was in my life. I wanted to be a witness, a light....I wanted to be different.

But the grief was too heavy, the pain was too deep to uphold this standard I put upon myself. I completely fell apart and like my friend, I battled guilt for not being stronger. The only thing I was able to tell others was, "this is where the rubber meets the road. I believe what I do, or I don't."

The most amazing thing started to happen. It felt great to be weak. I didn't clench onto my life and rely on my actions, my advice, or my abilities. I wasn't able to be the poster Christian child. I just was.

I realized the selfishness that came with my efforts to "take control" and put on the front that I'm impermeable because I have God. I thought that I had God's job to do.....but He is so much bigger than me. I can imagine that He wouldn't want to build anything on the lie that I had it altogether.

It has been in these moments I have been the most mailable. I realize, it's not up to me to show others how amazing God is. It's up to God to show others how amazing He is. He may happen to use me, or not.

Falling apart has been so freeing. It's been so beautiful and awful. I'm living the "when I'm weak, He is strong." It is so great to know I don't have to be!

I think the best thing I can do, or be, is broken. Somehow, someway, someday God may even use me...the poster child of weak.

Whispers of God

Whispers of God

It all started one afternoon.  The girls were frolicking in the yard behind our apartment and I sat just basking in the sun enjoying the blessings of my life when along came a butterfly.  It was flitting around, dancing all around me on the bench. It was in that moment that I felt like all my kids were there dancing, enjoying the amazingly beautiful day.  I sat and enjoyed them all.

When we first lost our son, we sent out an email notifying everyone what had happened.    I can't remember how I came across this poem but I do remember sending it out:

Butterfly

A Symbol of Hope
A butterfly lights beside us like a sunbeam
And for a brief moment its glory and beauty belong to our world
But then it flies again
And though we wish it could have stayed…
We feel lucky to have seen it.

Unknown


I've never been able to see a butterfly the same. But this summer;  this summer is, well.... rare. Every second I leave my door, there it is, a beautiful flittering butterfly, often more than one.  If I'm throwing out trash, there it is....taking out the dog, there it is.

I have had the most incredible urge to catch it or have it land on something long enough for me to capture a picture and to try and grasp its essence.  To have something to look at and to remind me of it, to keep it close.

My new obsession was to try and snap a picture of the butterfly.  I found myself throwing the trash away and rushing back in to get my phone.  When the  butterfly would land, I would have  to sneak up to get a closer shot.  As I crept forward, off it would fly and I disappointedly have to wait for another opportunity.  Days would go by with many failed attempts of trying to get a glimpse to burn forever in my memory.

It took several attempts for me to get a picture.  I finally did.  But every time I look at it, it doesn't do the moment justice.

I don't get the same feeling as I do seeing it float like a messenger from above, the joy and presence it brings with it cannot be replaced.  I realized its not the butterfly that is so impressive to me, but the timing of its presence.  Like little whispers from the Father He says, "I remember. I do not forget you or your suffering." Like rays of heaven they meet me and I can't help but smile knowing this is no accident.

Sure, I can capture a glimpse and a moment just like I had captured my moment with Jerin. It reminds me of being pregnant with him.....knowing he was flitting around in the womb, watching him on the ultrasound twitch and move all over the place.  And when I held him in my arms I remembered begging myself to always remember that moment, to burn it in my heart forever....but all I have now is stagnant memories.

The recent flutters of these butterflies have stirred a great movement in my soul.  One of joy and of remembrance.  I come in from a surprise encounter with these flying angels often with tears in my eyes because of the sudden presence of him all over again.  But I also am touched by the sweetness of God, the gentle reminders from Him of His immense love for me.  He knows my heart here on Earth will always have a place for my son that will never be filled, yet He pursues me with His creation and for a second I feel complete.  And in all honesty.....it brings me hope and a renewed spirit in Christ.  I forget so quickly how much Christ adores me and blesses me, and I am reminded in the  quiet motion of a butterfly.

Oh how I don't want it to end.  I know the summer days will fade and the bitter cold of Winter will come.  The surprise whispers will fade and I will lose sight of these glimpses of heaven.  I will have pictures and memories but will live to see another summer of the butterflies.

But for now I "Feel Lucky to have seen it."  I feel like the only girl in the world who gets to see this "glory" in this way.  Because I get a whisper from God that no one else does and I keep it and guard it with my heart.  I lift my face up to the heavens with gratitude and hope.  I may even wish for a chance for one to land on me just long enough so I can hold it before it flutters away just like my Jerin.

So I thank you God for remembering me, for giving me glimpses of your Glory in the smallest of things.  For sending down my son for a visit now and then and the glimpses I get to see of him.  Thank you for loving me so, beyond what I will ever know.  I love your whispers of grace and love, may I treasure them forever until we meet again.

In searching for the above poem, I found this next one and couldn't help but feel moved by its words.  I feel it captures the essence of this post and all I am feeling as of now.

Messenger of God

Oh, Little Butterfly,
Messenger of God,
When I see you in the sky
I cannot help but nod.
You bring me respite
From grief and despair
Every time I see you
Sailing through the air.
You renew my faith
In all God’s wondrous plan,
And I know it’s all in FAITH,
Not in what I understand.

Kathryn Poland

When Personal Becomes Professional

When Personal Becomes Professional

Lately something has been happening and I can't say that I like it so much.  My worlds are starting to collide, to converge, to come together in such a way I'm starting to really laugh at the irony of it all. Looking back over the 10 years of teaching I've had, I can see a trend.....I can keep my professional and personal lives pretty separate.  Of course there are things that naturally overlap like relationships, my beliefs system, and the nature of who I am; but for the most part work has been a place that I can put in its own category.

The role of a teacher has been a comfortable one for me.  I know that this is the case because the position has a sense of control....I love feeling like I'm in control.  I love knowing what's coming next and sailing through the plans of my day like the captain. Little things may throw me off course here and there but the majority of the time, I'm at the helm batting down the hatches.

Just like my students, I thrive in routine and knowing what comes next.  I love the time frames of each day and knowing exactly when my breaks are.  I have become accustomed to this position and title and I truly love and embrace all that it has to offer.

I also love to explore the new "lands" of teaching.  To reach beyond myself and navigate  to unknown waters.  I challenge myself to always evolve and grow and it keeps my job fresh and new......I have found it to be quite a passion of mine.

Over the last year I have been experimenting with a new set of standards that completely changes the way I have been teaching for 10 years.  I picked it up quickly from the moment I saw an example and have slowly re-vamped my teaching across all subject areas.  The results have been indescribable and have ignited a fire and desire to continue on this path.

One trend that has been overtly obvious to me is the fact that the control factor has started to shift and change in a way that has been uncomfortable yet refreshing.  My classroom became a new adventure and a place of treasure hunting for me.....I am loving this process.

One day an opportunity arose that challenged me beyond my abilities.  Sure I had willingly soared through this uncharted land on my own....with the door closed.....I was free to experiment without fear, without scrutiny.  Everything was going great when I was able to fail.

I got the email late Monday evening asking if I would be willing to have our local paper come to take pictures and see a lesson using this new strategy and standards. Of course I was willing!  Eager and excited I sat down to devise my amazing lesson.  Slowly I was realizing that I could only plan so much before losing my "control" over to my students.  It was a struggle, one that I was fighting with this new way of teaching.  I would become facilitator and teach through their discoveries.  I knew very well that this lesson had a very high possibility of not going the way "I wanted it to."


And there it was, it dawned on me, I had to be vulnerable and authentic in the eyes of the reporter....I had to show a lesson that could "fail" or could be epic......either option wasn't in my control.  I had to take a "risk," and be free to make mistakes.  I had to let go and be OK with the outcome.  As I pondered all these things, I realized that these are the foundational pieces I have had to build my classroom on.

I worked on creating an environment where my students try, fail, and build perseverance.  I've had to make the curriculum challenging where they may not know exactly "how," but they have confidence in the process.

So here I was, in the same boat.  I knew, if I don't take this risk, if I'm not real, if I fake my way through this lesson....then I will fail.  I will fail what I stand for, I will fail in my determination, I will fail beyond the credibility of my lesson but the very core of who I am.  I will be a hypocrite.

After this realization, I felt great, I slept great, and for the first time in a long time, I surrendered this to God. I knew that I was ready and willing to fail, even if it cost me the facade of perfection.  I felt secure in being vulnerable and authentic.  I was ready to be real in this setting, to surrender myself and my agenda and "let go."

So the fateful day came, I did my lesson and the student rose to the challenge and performed great; not by me or through me, but on their own, wrestling and excitedly diving into the lesson, and grasping the concept. I had fun, they had fun.

The reporter then started interviewing me on this new set of standards.  I admitted that I really had no idea where the lesson would go, the students wrote down their own words and I had no idea what word they even wrote.  I said, "I have to be vulnerable in these kinds of lessons, letting go of control and letting the students guide the lesson.  It's hard but it's also amazing."

The article was on the front page of the Sunday paper.  I cried.  Not because of some sort of accomplishment on my part but more about the reality that authenticity is taking over.......everything.  It's not always comfortable but it's my reality and I'm learning to embrace it.  It's clear that this is a life lesson for me and a way that is taking over all the categories of my life.  Surrendering to it is becoming a blessing, it's becoming my norm, it's becoming my friend.

So thank you authenticity for tearing me up and ripping through every area of my life.  You suck sometimes but ultimately I appreciate that everyone can relate to you.....even the teacher in me.

In God I Trust?

When it comes to taking a long trip, I'm the kind of girl that likes to get to my destination.  Right at the beginning I think, "I'll feel better once I get there."  I like to know where I'm going and the agenda on how to get there.  It's hard for me to sit back and enjoy the ride.  I hate delayed flights and unexpected bumps in the road.  I force myself to look out the window and "take it all in," even though I'm grinding my teeth the whole time while white knuckling the arm rests as we hit turbulence and buckle our seat belts.


I'll never forget getting the news that my son was dead inside me and having to wait two days before I could deliver him......I couldn't wait to finally deliver him and get it over with.  The anticipation was horrifying, the fear of what was to come or how I was going to feel was sickening.  I hardly ate or slept because I just didn't know what was to come.  I remember finally holding him in my arms, and then being moved to the "trauma" floor thinking, "I'm so glad that's over, now I can move on."  Even then I wanted to move from point A to point Z. Little did I know that my emotional recovery would continue for years after that day.

I fight the recovery process.  I am in a tug-o-war with myself.  On one side it's me, trying to find the "answer" and "fix" everything wrong with me......on the other side, it's me; surrendering to the process and "enjoying the ride." Back and forth I go, it's been a good 4 years of this and recently I'm hitting a layer that's pretty substantial.  This layer of my onion (refer to "the onion" post) is deep.  I've been dealing with it for awhile.  I know that this layer is thick and has been buried for quite some time.  It can be crippling and paralyzing, it stifles my creativity and I somewhat go into "survival mode" as I grapple with it.

This layer, this next step to my core has a name......trust.

As a self-proclaimed control freak I'm realizing that trust is probably something I have never really had.  I'm a pretty independent girl with a decent head on my shoulders.....I tend to take life on.  I'm responsible and driven, I research and put effort into every decision I make.  Slowly I have stared to lose trust unknowingly, falling prey to my efforts as if somehow I can control everything.


 I know the pot boiled over 4 years ago when I lost my son.  What I mean is....I couldn't keep a lid on all the normal "ish" I dealt with from day to day....it was boiling over and couldn't be ignored.  But this particular layer snuck up on me.  I started fearing irrational things more frequently.  I have lost sleep, planning and battling for the worst case scenario.

Embarrassed I brought these fears before my counselor afraid she would lock me up for my absurdity.  Inquisitively she asked, "If these things really did happen, what do you fear the most?"  Tears filled up my eyes and streamed down my face, I knew exactly what I feared but I was ashamed to admit it.  "I fear God won't take care of me....but worse, I fear He won't protect my girls."

It's still hard to admit.......I don't trust Him.

Of course it "makes sense"after-all, I lost a child.  But the deeper reality is I can't say I ever really did trust God.

The layer is peeled, the reality is there and now I want to do something about it. I have been determined, focused, and on a mission to trust Him.  I WANT to trust God, I NEED to trust God......it's broken right now and I want to fix it.

What's wrong with me?  I trust the stop light to work, as much as I trust my husbands word, and as much as I know the Fall season will bring back my favorite TV shows (and football). I trust that I will have my job the next day, and when I flip a switch on my wall, the light will turn on.

And there it is.....I trust a bazillion other things more than the One that gives me another day of life.  It's frustrating, and maddening.... I throw temper tantrums over it.

There isn't a "How-to Trust God for Dummies" book out there for me to read.  There isn't a clear A to Z step by step instructions in the Bible on how to trust God......it just tells us to.  There are plenty of examples in the Bible of those who trusted and those who didn't that I can strive to be more like or avoid.  As I go through these examples I'm realizing every story is different, unique to that person; their trials, relationships, and places in life are pieces to a bigger puzzle .....it. is. A. journey.

Well crap.....I hate journeys.  And because of that, I'm not expecting to enjoy this ride or even come to a final destination of complete trust.  But I am realizing that this journey is unique to me....my layers are like my own fingerprint.  And maybe trusting isn't doing but simply being. Maybe it's admitting that I don't trust that puts me in the arena.

So what do I do now?  Well, I'm not going to pretend or lie that the process through this is all roses.  I will have white knuckles, I will clinch my teeth and probably will be delayed along the way. But more importantly I will do my part in this trust relationship....I will be myself, resign to the fact I can't do anything on my own and remain in Christ. And hopefully at some point I can look out the window along the way and finally "enjoy the ride."

Humanity and Abandon

Humanity and Abandon

Over the last five years of my life my sole purpose has been to find/search/wrestle with authenticity.  In a world that teaches us that we need to be "perfect" or it tells us it's OK to cover-up our imperfections.....it's been a real challenge.  It's easy to blame society or "this day in age," but I've come across a woman in the Bible who is beautifully authentic and speaks so deeply to me.....Mary of Bethany.

We first find her in Luke 10.  Jesus is stopping at her home with her sister Martha.  Martha is the perfectionist and wants everything perfect for her Lord.  She is busy preparing things, cleaning, cooking, doing everything imaginable to make things presentable and worthy for Jesus' visit.  When he comes, Martha continues to serve and work diligently to make him comfortable.  Mary on the other hand is described as "sitting at the Lord's feet listening to what he said." Martha, being the big sister she is, complained to Jesus and asking him to tell Mary to start helping her.....after all, she was just sitting there.  I loved how Jesus responded, " Martha, you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed.  Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken from her."

Mary knew how to have an authentic relationship with Jesus.  She knew how to put the "things" of this world that mattered to the eyes of others, and she abandoned them to sit at the feet of The Lord.  It was very controversial for her to sit at the feet of Jesus.  In "that day and age," sitting there, listening to him was considered a place of a disciple; a woman in that position was unheard of.  She was accepted as a disciple in His eyes.  He was her teacher, her friend, her everything.  She was soaking in every word he said, getting to know him on every level.  I'm sure they laughed and told stories, living life together.  She did choose what was better.....a relationship. Instead of getting wrapped up in perfection, she was herself, pure, and authentic.

The next time we see Mary, she is at the tomb of her dead brother Lazarus. When. Jesus heard of Lazarus' death, he came to the scene.  When Mary met him she falls at his feet saying,  "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." And then she cried, and cried, and cried.  And Jesus cried too..... with her.

Oh how she speaks to me.  I love how human she was here.  She wasn't afraid to be herself.....to tell the truth. She knew this was Jesus.....the one.....and she still was authentic in her pain and suffering.  She wasn't afraid to question him, to show him her disappointment and her grief at his absence.  So many times I find myself holding back my humanity.  I change my prayers to be more "appropriate" or "fit for a King." I hold back the dark and real parts of me as if I'm protecting God from it.  But really, I'm protecting myself from being raw and vulnerable.  Mary shows me that while she has her quiet moments of sitting at his feet, she also had her vulnerable moments of    admitting, "Where the heck were you!?"

 After this, we see her in John 12 anointing Jesus' feet with expensive perfume:

"Six days before the Passover, Jesus arrived at Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. Here a dinner was given in Jesus' honor. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him. Then Mary took about a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus' feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

But one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected, "Why wasn't this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year's wages." He did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it.

"Leave her alone," Jesus replied. "It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial. You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me.”

— John 12:1-8, New International Version

Here I love how Mary shows complete abandon.  She doesn't hesitate in her actions.  She doesn't question Jesus, "hey, do you think I should save this for something more important?" Or, "am I going to need this later on?" No, she gives herself over to the cause.....no matter what anyone says.....no matter what the future holds.

I see this and even chuckle at my hesitancy in this world.  Even when it comes to giving things over to The Lord, I question and hesitate.  Sometimes even after knowing and hearing that "still small voice," I sit on it.....fear.....worry.  I wait and pray that extra long time in order to solidify my comfort.  But Mary knew she would face negative talk. She knew she might need this expensive perfume for the future, she knew that Jesus was the Son of God.....she had seen him raise her brother from the tomb.  That's all she needed.  Complete surrender and trust over to her King......her friend.

This wasn't just a man to Mary, it was her Savior.  She shows me a true authentic relationship with God that I can say I've never really had.  Since reading about her I hear my prayers becoming more human.....I see myself abandoning the things that really don't matter.....seeing the feet of Jesus and throwing myself on my knees in all of my humanity.  It's here that I know when I weep, when I question, when I'm myself.....He meets me there.  He weeps with me....He knows me....He's my friend.....He's my Savior.

Power of Perspective

As Mother's Day approaches and passes I often love looking at this role I have.....mother.  I have a great mom whom I think I appreciated fairly well throughout my years with her but nothing prepared me for my most challenging role..... becoming a mother myself.  It has been through this process that I have a new, greater understanding and honor towards my own mom. I now see and experience everything she went through and sacrifices she made for me.

Lately I've been questioning my role as an adequate mom as I'm sure every mom has at some point (or many points) on this motherhood journey.  When I come to something especially difficult, I go to my mom, or other moms for advice, for help, or just for a sense of feeling "normal."

I treasure these times because It redeems my trust and faith in my abilities to be a mom but it also gives me perspective.  Sometimes the sleepless nights, countless messes, temper tantrums, and whiny voices are just too much to give me a "bigger picture."  I remember when my first child was a newborn, I felt like the days were eternally long and my life wasn't my own.....it seemed like it would last forever.  Now five years later, I have perspective, I know this time will fly by.  And even though I went through it a second time, I found myself forgetting.  So I'm always happy to offer perspective to newer moms in their sleepless days because I remember.

Perspective is a treasure, a breath of fresh air, and a weight lifted off your shoulders.

Around this Mothers Day I have been constantly thinking about the greatest Mother of the Bible, Mary mother of Jesus.  Her journey and story teaches me so many things about being a mom.

She starts as a young lady learning from an angel that she will bear the son of God.  She isn't married, she is shunned, laughed at, and exiled because of it.  She had to explain to her betrothed and hoped that he would stick arounYou

She then traveled to Bethlehem very pregnant, on a donkey....delivered the Son of God in a barn without any other woman there to help her.  Soon after she had to flee because the King was killing all male babies.....

Then she raised a sinless child.  He threw tantrums because he was angry, he cried real tears when he was sad, and he saw every one of her failures as she looked into the eyes of God.

Then at 33 years he traveled the land loving on everyone telling them the Good News.  She worried as she heard the rumors of hatred, she filled with pride at the cheers, and cried at every stage of his journey.

She then had to endure the beating and suffering of the cross.  Watching her son being crushed right before her eyes.  The son she bore, she raised, she loved unconditionally.

She wasn't superhuman.  She was a mom, a normal loving, caring, "want what's best" mom.  And the thing that strikes me the most about her is she had no perspective.  No other person could tell her it would be ok, no one else housed the Son of God.  No one knew how to raise a family in which one of them never sinned, no one knew how vulnerable it was to live knowing the eyes of God were upon every decision, mistake, and misstep she made.  No one could hand her a Bible and say, it's OK.....He wins.

I wish I could hear her prayers throughout her life.  Her cries out to God of her  unworthiness.  The doubts, the fears, the anger......the trust.  You see, Mary taught me that when life offers no perspective, trusting in God is the only hope to hold on to.

Some days I have trust like the Mary did after the angel visited her telling her she was chosen to carry his son.  Or when she laughed with him as a toddler and rejoiced in his first steps.  Or on the days when she saw the miracles, and saw him love beyond politics, creed, or law.  Or when she saw the empty tomb and His nailed scarred hands.

And some days when there is no perspective and what seems like no hope, I'm like the Mary when she was shunned by her own friends, birthed in a stable alone, ran for her son's life in the wilderness, watched her son be ridiculed, torn, and broken.  And during those long, dark, and hopeless 3 days when her son lay in a tomb, dead, like her, I'm just barely breathing out prayers of pleas, mercy, and grace.

I'm looking at her story and I realize that God used her to give me perspective.  Because of her willingness, her sacrifice, her obedience.....I can open the Word and find  peace, answers, and unconditional love.  This love is from a God who gives me His love no matter where I am.  I may have all the perspective in the world and trust Him so tightly and He loves me. Or, I might be full of anxiety and fear because of my lack of trust and perspective and He still loves me.

I'm grateful God decided to use a mom to bring his son into the world.  She offers unconditional love, sacrifice, and would do anything for her child.  She is a reflection of the heart of our Savior.  His perfect plan involved the heart of a young woman who was willing, imperfect and who would be herself throughout the whole journey.  She believed and never stopped.  She showed me that not everything in this life needs to have an answer.  Sometimes I will never have perspective.  But I do have God.  I believe He is the same yesterday as He is today. He is the same God to Mary as He is to me. That is truly astounding and comforting......I pray to never lose that perspective.

Sadness

I don't like being sad. No really, it's so bad that I will avoid sad movies and if I do happen to watch them I will never watch them again.  In fact I really liked the movie Moulin Rouge so we ended up owning it.  As we sat snuggled up on the couch watching it for the second time, I got up and turned it off 3/4 of the way through.  Bewildered my husband asked, "What the heck is going on!?" " It's sad from here on out, so if you wanna finish it, go for it.  I'm out," I said.  And it continued, Shakespeare in Love was another "turn off before it gets sad" movie.  In fact, every time we look to rent or watch a movie, my hubby will read the potential list I yell out "SAD" on the ones that will not be seen that evening.

At first it was funny, maybe a personal preference, but as I've been on this crazy journey I'm realizing that it is a deep-seeded pattern in my life.....I don't like sadness.  After losing my son I was sad.  I didn't like it.  I didn't like making others sad hearing about it.  I didn't like to admit that sadness had settled into my soul so deep that it couldn't be thwarted.  Normally I would fill this sadness hole with things that made me happy.  Music, TV, reading happy things, and most importantly; finding people to join my "pity party for one" all in the name of making myself feel better.  I would justify my sadness by treating myself to things.  I would say something like, "I deserve this ice cream" to brighten my day, or "I could use this pair of shoes".......

But nothing worked....it was beyond my cover-up efforts.

When I'm sad its bad, but what's worse is when I cause sadness in someone else.  I just can't stand it.  If you know me, I'm the first to apologize in an argument. It's easier for me to take the blame than to keep someone sad.  Especially if I know I caused any part of the sadness, it's faster to apologize than to work through it (oh I've learned this is not the case either).

Well..... all this went out the window when I had kids.  I'm well aware that my girls will be sad.  Not only that, but they will be sad about stupid things. No offense, but things that really don't matter.....shows, phone rules, not spending the night at their friends house, what clothes they wear, and it goes on. I'm already seeing it now and I don't quite know what to do with myself.  I mean, I don't like it when they are sad but I know it's going to happen so.......?

So.......I must deal with sadness.  It seems easy enough but when I've been avoiding it in myself and in others for so long it seems impossible.  When life hits and deals an unimaginable tragedy, sadness stares you in the face and dares you to try and cover it up.  I had to admit this deep-seeded truth.....I don't like sadness.

When I look around me I see a lot of others who don't like sadness either.  We are an insanely addictive bunch....alcohol, drugs, sex, porn, shopping, and eating (or not)......all to avoid dealing with sad.

So here I was....dealing.  I knew the situation was too great to cover up, my own efforts were not cutting it.  My prayers and quiet times were comforting for the moment but small circumstances would knock me off balance and into the sadness spiral all over again.  The hardest part for me was admitting I needed help. I mean, I am a Christian.....I don't need anyone but God....if if that doesn't work than its because my efforts aren't good enough.

See the problem with being sad is that it's ok to be sad. Even though I was not ok with being sad, I had to learn how to be sad.  It was so difficult for me to cry when I felt it......no matter how silly it was.  I struggled to not cover it up but to sit and process it.  I learned that God did not say Perfect Christians are not sad, but he joins me in my sadness and holds me through it just as I cradle my crying two-year old when she falls.    Jesus was sad and cried when He was here on Earth, he didn't avoid the emotion but embraced it as a real authentic part of this life.

Shame wanted to keep sadness from working itself out.....pride wanted to keep my soul from freeing itself from the chains that bind me.......Satan wants me to believe I'm not good enough....... I needed help.  My counselor, my family, my friends.....this was a battle beyond my own abilities and I needed an army.  Although I felt like a failure because I couldn't do it on my own (because I felt I should be able too since I have God) the reality is, God equipped  me with an amazing army here on Earth........plenty of help.

The truth is I will always deal with sadness, it's unavoidable in this life.  I will make others sad with my actions, they will make me sad too.  My girls will be sad about stupid things.  What better way to speak to them through this real emotion, to empathize with their sadness because it is authentic.  To not try and protect them from it by buying them an ice cream to cover it up.....but also to show them my sadness and that it's OK to feel it.

I truly believe going to battle by myself would have been a huge mistake.  Asking for help was the hardest thing I ever had to do.  But I know I'm living a fuller, freer, authentic  life because of sadness and what it has taught me.

10 Things To Never Say......

10 Things To Never Say To A Hurting Person

I start by saying that this list has been created through my own life experiences.  After losing my son, I had to process through the many pieces of "wisdom and advice" I received.  In fact it has taken me four years to sort through what I can deem as "unhelpful."  The hardest part about doing this is knowing where these comments come from and why people are saying them. I'm grateful that time and my growth on this journey has revealed to me what to accept and what to reject.  This is a record (in no particular order) of my own experiences and opinions through these last four years.  What not to say........



How are you doing?

It isn't the question that is the problem.....it's the reaction to my answer.  After deciding to be authentic I knew I was rough around the edges.  I was honest and raw,sometimes too much.  But it was the truth and it was hard to handle for others.  Pain is very hard and awkward for someone else to process so the best advice I can give about this one is this: if you're going to ask it, be OK with the answer. Be OK with the real, raw and harsh......it's where we're at.

Time heals all wounds

This one has been hard for me.  Although I want to get through this hell as quickly as possible.....I never want to forget my son.  Losing a loved one is so heartbreaking, I never want time to somehow distance me from my son.  I never want to forget or cover up what he has meant to me,even the pain.

Everything happens for a reason

This is what I call "the circle of life" piece of wisdom.  You know, nature has a way of working things out.  Life and death is a part of the circle......you just have to accept it.

I know how you feel......

Here is where people tried to tell me they understand what I was going through because of something they or someone they knew experienced. I appreciated the effort in trying to relate but 9 out of 10 times they had no idea how I felt because they didn't go through exactly what I did.  I heard countless miscarriage stories and I hated comparing situations but......I did.  For me it just created comparisons and it minimized my hurt, pain and suffering.


Say nothing

This one is the worst!  I realize no one wants to be the reason behind a mental breakdown but I experienced this one the most.  Ignoring the elephant in the room can't be comfortable for anyone.

God is testing you or teaching you a lesson

This one is tough.  First it implies that I have done something wrong or not "listened" to God so he must do something to get my attention or "teach" me a lesson I couldn't have learned any other way.  For four years this is the single issue and question I have wrestled over.  Although I can write a whole other article on my thoughts about this.....I do believe this is no one's business whether it true or not.

God doesn't give you more than you can handle

This truth is often used to gain strength, but it became a source of weakness for me.  As I struggled to get out of bed and disengaged myself from any meaningful activities, I thought," you should be able to handle this.....remember God doesn't give you more than you can handle."  I started to feel weak....weak physically and in Spirit.  I wanted to conquer this, I wanted to be better than I was.  This "truth" just continually reminded me of that.

Gods timing is perfect

One day you will be able to help others

I lumped these two together because I feel this falls under the "even if it's true.....now's not the time" category. There are some things I will never understand....Gods timing being one of them.  When I sat angry, devastated, and confused, I did not think I was going to be helpful to anyone......ever.  Hindsight is 20/20 of course.....I see glimpses of this four years later but this still makes the list.

Sharing a verse

I believe scripture is powerful. It is a life-breathing document that God uses to speak to His children.  I was given so many verses during this time.  I really, really wanted them to be mood altering.....to give me a perspective beyond my pain.....but they fell flat on the pages.  These words were pouring over deaf ears and a hardened heart. I believe these verses spoke to the person who them in my card, my face came to their mind when they read it.  I am forever grateful for that.  After experiencing this myself, when I read a verse and a face comes to mind, I pray the verse over that person.  I know that the words I send them may fall flat but God is the only one who can breathe hope.....life back into the broken.

I realize the next question that comes to mind is, "What is helpful?"  Again this is another personal opinion but for me it was two things:  prayer and talking.  I treasured people praying for me......I needed someone praying on my behalf because a lot of times I wasn't.  When in doubt, tell someone you are praying, it covers them like a warm blanket whether or not they feel it.  And talking......asking details, wanting to hear my heart, and supporting me in the darkness was the most important thing anyone could do  for me.  It is in those moments I was asked, "how are you doing.....really."  Those people offered me grace and love in the darkest of my days.  I will never forget their willingness to be vulnerable and authentic with me.  It inspired me to live life differently, to look at God deeply, and to love others more fully.

Perfect Christian Syndrome

Currently I struggle.  I struggle with being a "good" Christian.  Although I think this has been an ongoing struggle, it has recently been evident after deciding to live an authentic life.....even with God. In the past I would do what I was taught, all the while checking God off my list of tasks.  Being on the "other side" of this I find I don't know what to "do" because I want it to be real, tangible, alive......I want to be in a relationship.....with the creator of the universe.

As I struggle, cry, and discuss this with God, He has revealed some of his simple truths through my children.

MarKay my 5 year old struggles staying still during our nighttime prayers.  She wiggles and laughs and sometimes interrupts as we are praying by her bedside.  Even after we've talked to her about being respectful, she still has a hard time.  When it's her turn to pray, her prayers are simple and sweet, cutting to the chase.

Piper on the other hand, my two-year old, sits and holds me during prayer time.  She is still and keeps her eyes closed the whole time.  When it's her turn to pray, she goes on and on for several minutes at a time.  She thanks God for every single thing and person she has seen that day.  Even down to the pets in her life.  We often have to say Amen for her because she will just keep going.

MarKay out of nowhere will ask if we can pray for someone who is sick or hurting.  She will talk about Jesus when something reminds her of Him.  She asks questions about Him and teaches me about Him unprompted.  She asks what the verse of the day is and  out of the blue connects nature to His mighty works.

Piper sings worship songs out of the blue and still asks me where baby Jesus is in front of our church since the nativity scene was taken down. She tells me about her papers from Sunday School and excitedly wakes up for church on Sunday.

As I look at my daughters' growing relationship with God  I ask, "which one is better?"  Is there one that is "better" at relating to God than the other?  My first response is, "of course not." Each child has the connection pieces they are passionate about, they are uniquely special in how God speaks to them.  If this is true for them, why is it that I have the "perfect Christian syndrome" in which all "good" Christians' walk should look the same?

I've also started looking at the relationship I have with each daughter.  Piper is snugly and comes up to me and cradles my face.  She sits on my lap when I'm on the couch and wants me to carry her everywhere.  But, I can"t keep her attention for more than 30 seconds.  Partly because she's two but also she is just wired differently. MarKay on the other hand, can talk to me for hours, making me laugh, and wants me to tell stories, sings songs, and read. She wants to cook, craft, and write together. She craves quality time, one on one intimate conversations.

Looking at this I realize, neither one of my daughters are "better" than the other.  They are free to be themselves with me.  I love their strengths and weaknesses, I see my own strengths and weaknesses in each of them.  I don't demand they be a better daughter for me, I love them for who they are.  If they come up to me to talk, or snuggle, I welcome it.  If they don't.....I accept it.  I don't want them to be the same.  Their differences inspire me. I don't want them to check me off their list, I want them to desire time together.  I know this relationship will change as they grow and develop because they too will change.  We will have great times of deep connection and times of brokenness and despair.

Yet I feel that I've been bound to be more than my natural self when it comes to my relationship with God.  I look at what others tell me my relationship should be and what I expect for it to be myself.  I've lived trying to measure up and be the "perfect" Christ follower.


I can't get over how painful it is for me to realize how my "good Cristian deeds" will never measure up. By that I mean, whether I spend 5 minutes or 3 hours with God....he will always be deserving of more. I mean he's God for goodness sake. I owe Him everything.  In fact, a lot of healthy relationships in my life deserve more.  My mom, husband, daughters,best friends, are all deserving of more of my time.  But when given the time I have, they don't criticize it, they appreciate it, revel in it.....adore it.  I don't find others telling me how those relationships should look, or how I'm "supposed" to relate to them.....it's our own special authentic connection.  I love that.

I'm just starting.....barely.....to embrace, accept, and enjoy the freedom I have in this kind of relationship with God.  I'm beginning to see that He uniquely made me to relate to Him in our own sweet way. Whether I snuggle up on his lap, lay helpless in the palm of His hand, struggle to sit still during prayer or lack keeping my attention for more than 30 seconds.....He adores every second of it.  I can desire to memorize the verse of the day, sing His praises, or admire His amazing creation and......He loves it.  I can throw a temper tantrum, not talk to Him for days, and disobey Him and He still loves me.  More importantly.....I love Him.  I love the real, sweet, and authentic whispers.  I love the deep, treacherous, dark altercations.  In the storm and in the calm I'm loving out relationship.....our growth.....our connections.  Slowly the chains of what I "should be" are falling off and I'm tasting the real, the true, and the raw. And I'm almost......almost..... OK with it.

Elephants III

Elephants III

This "elephants" series began at the first year anniversary of my sons death. I anxiously anticipated it with fear and trembling not knowing how I would handle re-living such a horrible time in my life. My counselor told me the story of elephants when I was speaking to her about my anxiety of this significant date. She told me elephants remember where their loved ones remains are and every year they go to the bones and cradle and caress them lovingly. It's as if they are remembering them with the sweetest of memories and all they meant to them. Never before did I think I could relate to the memory of an elephant. But on or around February 9th, I lovingly remember my boy.

This year I decided to finally read all the cards and letters I received from everyone. I was overwhelmed by the outpouring of support and love we felt during this time. Dearest of friends called me just to cry, my house filled with flowers, my mailbox full of cards, and my fridge full of meals.

But I just couldn't read a single thing. I may have read them but the words were not penetrating my soul. I was numb.

It has still been too painful to read them until this year.....four years later. I cried at every one, mostly for the memory but also because I would see the name of the person from who it was from and I still know most of you all. I was touched at your words and gifts of concern. I wanted to say thank you but realized it was four years ago.

So now I want to take the time to say "thank you" to those of you who sent gifts and wrote to me. Even though its four years later, I'm still forever grateful for your support. The number one response in every card was, "I don't know what to say." I am still grateful you chose to write even when you didn't know what to say.

And for those of you who didn't know me when it happened but know me now, I'm forever grateful for your support in reading "how I'm doing....really."  You take time out of your schedule to read about me and my journey and I'm so honored you would do that.   For those of you who tell me you're a fan and give me so much encouragement, I am forever grateful and just blessed by all of you.

The second emotion that has been resonating with me this year has developed more recently when we had to deal with the loss of our family cat of 11 years.

The worst part of his death has been the fact that my five year old daughter is having to grapple and deal with his loss.  Her insight in the issue has been simple and so healing for myself reflecting on this date.

It was pet week at her preschool and I knew she would feel the sting of only having one pet instead of two.  I had anxiety over her feelings and emotions......I didn't want her to feel sad.  But alas I know that she needs to feel all the hard emotions and learn to deal with them.

We printed out the picture of our dog and sent it with her holding our breath.  Sure enough she comes home talking about how she misses our cat Pepino and she wants to bring a picture of him to tell the students that he is with Jesus now.

My heart broke knowing she was sad, suffering in her own way.  And then she didn't bring it up again.  So maybe it was over.....until today.  Pet week was over and she brought Pepino up again,

"Mommy" she said, "I miss Pepino, can you print out a picture of him so I can see him?"

"Sure," I said. "Do you want to write him a letter? Maybe we can attach it to a balloon and send it to him."

"Mmmm, I don't think it will make it to heaven." she said.

"Well it doesn't matter because God can hear us without sending anything up in a balloon." I replied.

"Let's pray now, you pray mommy. Tell Jesus we miss Pepino."

"OK, (holding back tears) dear God, thank you for all the time we had with Pepino, we miss him but we know that you are taking care of him until we get to see him again.  Thank you, we love you, amen."

MarKay says, "Dear Lord, thank you for watching Pepino, we love him. And thank you for the one pet we do have.....Sierra.  We love you. Amen."

I cried as I drove home feeling the same about my son.  I miss him and look at his picture every year.  I know God is keeping him safe until I get to see him again and I am so forever grateful for what I do have.

I had MarKay. She kept me sane and alive during my most difficult days, I'd sit and watch her grow and love as I dealt with despair. And Piper......tears fall just thinking about how she wouldn't be here if Jerin had lived........I am so so so grateful for her.  She is a spark-plug that I can't imagine my life without.

I also can see how God, my father, has had to let me "deal" with this loss. How his heart must have been breaking and how he must have wanted to keep me away from pain and suffering too.  But he chose, as I did for MarKay, to allow me to feel and grow, all the while being there to help me along the way.

So this year Lord, I hold these "bones" lovingly and sweetly up to you. Continue to watch over my boy and teach me more about you through his loss.  I love you.

Lessons From A Two Bedroom Apartment

It will be one year since we lost our three-bedroom two-story house and moved our family west into a two-bedroom apartment.  I was afraid of this move.  I was used to the big backyard, the girls having their own rooms and  every corner of that place was furnished and perfected.  Jerry and I worked on re-modeling the house for a year. Sanding cabinets, laying wood laminate, and painting every wall filled our kid-less evenings in our early years of marriage.  It was just how I wanted it, my colors, my furniture, my everything. Kids came and filled the air with joy, toys, and diapers.  The wood floors came in very handy during the spills and potty training.  The backyard was a haven for bikes, roller skates, and cars.  Parties, jumpers, and many cozy get- togethers filled the space with laughter and joy.  I loved it.

But with all of the joys, it was also a burden. Financially the house started to wear heavy on our shoulders, bogging us down and keeping us awake at night.  As with many others, we were upside down and felt our spirits being crushed year after year.  Then we received the devastating news that my husband was "let go" at his job of 7 years.  Although this was something really difficult, it turned into little rays of hope.  We no longer had a choice,we MUST let our house go. We MUST make choices that will help us financially.  Then it was exciting........... we had no choice but to rely on the Lord.

We talked through dreams, we assessed our goals and we knew we needed to downsize, re-focus, and learn a few things.  As I packed up all of my possessions and sold items at an absurd price (from what I bought them at), I became bitter, almost challenging God thinking, "you better make this work, I'm really relying on you."

Everything was unknown, when we would move....where we would move.......there wasn't much we could say we knew. And boy looking back, I really didn't know what this last year was going to teach me.

Soon enough, the timing was defined, my husband found a job, we found an apartment, and February 14th was the day we could start moving in.  I was petrified.  How am I going to do this?  I was going to be a "commuter" to work, we were down a bedroom, no backyard, an outside dog would become an inside dog, and the list.... the fears, went on and on.

Looking back on the last year I wanted to share a few of the many lessons I have learned living in my two bedroom apartment.

We can see and hear the freeway from outside our building.
At first I thought this would be a draw-back.  But this has been a constant reminder that we gain and hour of time a night with my husband.  As I stare at the traffic I'm reminded about the many nights he was late and frustrated because he missed the girls' bedtime.  It is ironic that I whisper a prayer of praise whenever I see the daily 91 parking lot.

2) My closet is ridiculously small

I had my own closet that held all my winter and summer clothes.  Now I "share" a closet with Jerry.  This has taught me that I don't really need that many clothes.  And, I've learned that in some places of the world, the size of my current closet is the size of someone's  room.....so I'm grateful.

3) I can hear the upstairs neighbor

This seems self explanatory but there is some comfort in knowing someone is awake, close, and there.  I knew my neighbors schedule and we would often chat about the weather, the power outages, and just about anything that we could while passing each other by.  We built a community without even trying.

4) My girls had to share a room

This gave me a lot of Mommy guilt.  Mostly because I had a brother and didn't share a room ever.  But I really felt bad having to put them together.  But this has brought them to be so close.  Just the other night MarKay told me she woke up to Piper crying and she went to calm her down so she could go back to sleep.  It really melts my heart that we are forcing a bond that hopefully will never be broken.

5) No backyard

Another Mommy guilt scenario for the dog and my girls.  But it forces us to get out, go walking, riding bikes, riding skates, or go to the playground at the office.  My dog hasn't been walked so much in her life and my girls have loved every outing we take.

6) Just no space for anything

This has taught me to give more than I ever have.  Realizing my "things" are not my own, I have too many of them, and others are in need more than myself.  I have never given more away, not because I wasn't willing to, but because I didn't have to. Also, I am never too far away from any of my loved ones.  They are all an earshot away. Forced to give things away and forced to be closer together......it has been heaven.

In the end, all of these "truths" about my apartment have taught me, changed me, formed me.  I like who I am in this smaller, more humble state.  It feels simple, calm......right.  All my fears, my unknowns could not possibly prepare me for the joy of a possession-less year.  Never did I think I would be praising God for a job and house lost.  It's in those losses I have gained.  I gained a new perspective, new joys.....new life.  When "normal" becomes smaller all the while my heart grows bigger.  Where the future is endless and fear is no longer the first emotion I feel.  So, here's to another year of lessons from my two-bedroom apartment.

Chiseled

Since I have chosen to live a fully authentic life, I have found that one of the hardest elements in this unauthentic world are relationships. From shedding expectations to building up walls of protection.....this is by far the most difficult area for me to maintain a true vulnerability. It's no wonder that my relationship with God can be so complex.....I've seen and realized now more than ever how real my relationship with Him is becoming.  The following piece is one that was formed out of my mind then was read and rejected by another mind (I had submitted it to a well known blog).  These posts or articles are the very pieces of my soul and this one in particular has been a "favorite" of sorts.  Although after re-reading this I find this "rejection" all the more ironic.  This past week I also have experienced rejection in different ways through completely unrelated circumstances. I almost chuckle and grin when I think of this feeling.....this pit in the stomach kind.

But alas, my hope for you is that "one mans trash is another mans treasure" and that you would be blessed on some level with this piece.  As for me, I will take to heart my own words, moving forward in realization that this is just another opportunity for me to be.......

Chiseled


Recently I've had several people in my life experience painful relationships. Whether it has been a break-up, a broken friendship, or a painful relative, it seems that relationships define us.

As I sat and thought of these people and myself I started realizing that we are created, formed, and developed by the people in our lives.

As life has gone by I look back and see myself to be a piece of stone.  I started out as a huge mass of rock, grey, solid, and alone.  Each person I have encountered has taken a piece of me, chiseling away at my being. They break away the corners and edges, rounding out and smoothing the rough places.

With some relationships the pain has been the breaking of my spirit or the dream of what could have been. Those tough break-ups where I wondered what I was thinking. Or when I broke the heart of someone else.  The sadness of hurting someone I cared about. Then there is the friendships that went astray,  whether it was over an incident or just the realization that they were not who I thought they were. Or perhaps the most common in my life, the friendship that doesn't develop into the one I need. An authentic, real, deep connection which requires vulnerability.

Other relationships are painful, they drive me to be better, breaking away the unnecessary, the jagged, the porous chunks that don't belong.  These are my family. My closest connection to my soul.....the ones who bore me, raised me or decided to be with me forever.  My soul sisters or deepest friends who don't always agree with me but can understand me and meet me at the crossroads. Who can respect me and demand the best of me.  Or my leaders who challenge and grow me. Who develop my skills and
abilities to the highest level and capability.

Time after time I encounter these relationships, some on-going and some just take their pieces and leave. When these relationships hammer and take a chunk out of me, sometimes it feels violating. I entrust them with their chisel and they leave the dust behind with crumbs of stone crumpled on the floor. I look down at the destruction and wonder how any of this could make sense.

In the end, these people, moments in time form me, polish me and make me who I am supposed to be.

God my ultimate sculptor, allows these people to come and hammer on my soul and my character, all for the end result......His masterpiece.

At times there is a resistance, an unwillingness to be formed. Questioning these moments of despair and hurt. Other times it is welcomed, a known purpose, a necessary step in the Master Plan.

Each relationship that comes or goes gets a precious piece of me, and I get a piece of them. If I whence at the sight of a hammer and wedge, or feel the sting of a broken relationship, I pray that I remember the piece of stone, the end result.

More  importantly I pray for the willingness, the ability to open up and allow the sculptor to do His job....His will.  When I come face to face with the perfect creator, I will be revealed.  The final product will reflect every relationship, every crease and crevice perfected by Him. Because of this, I pray to give up control. Give up the strong
hold of my stone. I want to willingly become malleable under His hand and remember that I am being whittled away, formed, created........chiseled.

Wrinkled Laundry

Wrinkled laundry

Laundry.....the evil existence of a never-ending  task. Being a wife and a mom has its challenges but my number 1 challenge (and arch enemy) is the laundry.  I grew up doing my own laundry and really was pretty decent at it. But when it came to doing laundry for more than just myself, it really started to fall apart.  I've been known to shrink quite a bit of items, turn undies a nice shade of pink and recently I discovered that I had been "washing" our clothes in fabric softener for a good six months. I claim that the bottle was poorly labeled and my clothes smelled good.....sure the socks were pretty dirty but they were soft!  I started suspecting this mistake on my part and discovered that Gain not only has detergent but also fabric softener......with Fabreese.  It works good, take my word for it.  I've been using it.....alone..... for six months!

But perhaps the very worst thing about laundry is the fact that it involves a good amount of timing. The washer to the dryer and then out of the dryer before the dreaded wrinkles set in. This is a problem for me. I find that left over load two days later in the dryer and then turn it to the "fluff" cycle only to find it a day later and I try it again.

I really didn't think much of this pattern until one day my husband informed me that my daughter was out of underwear. Now the only "good" thing about laundry is the fact that it can pile up behind closed doors without making my house look messy. This is exactly what was happening, I had gone too long before washing my daughters' clothes. Not only that,  but when I went to put in the load I was washing, there it was.....I found a load of their clothes sitting in the dryer. It had been there for a week.....wrinkled.

On this particular day I felt more than just a laundry misfit, I felt like a failure. So much so that after my husband told me about the panties I said, "I'm a horrible mother and wife."

I meant it. I really felt that way. I saw the wrinkled mess and identified with every crease and crevice. This failure in successfully completing the task meant failure for me.

I began to realize that tasks done well in my life were indicators of how "well" I was. My worth was in the task.  This pattern had a deeper hold in all areas of my life.  A clean house (and laundry) meant "good wife", good grades from my students meant "good teacher," and well behaved kids meant, "good mom."

Looking at all the tasks I do throughout my day I noticed none of them were healthy goals nor were they realistic. In fact they aren't even "true."

Being a mom has transformed so much in my life. It was when I couldn't provide clean panties for my daughter that really put me over the edge. When my girls naturally misbehave i question my ability as their mom.  It has been heartbreaking for me to realize that I think being a "good" mom means my kids are always well-behaved, happy, and apparently have clean clothes.  In fact,  after conducting a very valid and accurate poll, (ok, I asked my Facebook friends) good parenting is so much more. None of the 14 people who responded mentioned behavior when asked, "what makes a good parent"? Most answers were ones like, someone who puts their children before themselves, patience, self-control, love, and the number one response......grace.

I'm sure if I conducted another very accurate and valid survey of my Facebook friends on what makes a "good teacher" or "employee" or "wife/husband," it wouldn't involve task oriented responses. In fact most of the responses given about what makes a good parent would also work for any of these other roles I play. Funny how grace can transcend all areas of my life.

I don't want my kids growing up defining themselves as failures over wrinkled laundry.  I want to have a day or even week old crevices in my imperfect being and wear it around, proud and accepting of it. I want my kids to misbehave because they should, and will. I want to laugh when we are underwear-less and feel good about the time well spent doing something else of value.  I don't want tasks like work, lists, or unrealistic expectations to create a perfectly manicured and steam-pressed soul. Because that just isn't how it is. I am wrinkled, I need to be fluffed multiple times. And if I'm shrinked, damaged and turned pink along the way, at least I will be softened.......and smell good.
Because the first and most important thing I want to teach my children is grace. Everyday I'm realizing that I can't teach them this unbelievable truth without living the truth myself.

So this year when the dishes pile up, the laundry mountain overflows, when my students fail tests, and I burn the perfect meal, when my two-year old throws herself on the ground of a grocery store, when my students walk in a noisy and crooked line......I will have grace. When I open the dryer door and see the load that's been there for who knows how long because I forgot or was too tired to fold..... I will have grace. Sure I will have grace for my students, kids and husband, but more importantly I will have grace for myself. For the silly and legit mistakes, for the little and big things, for the imperfections that are bound to happen.  I will strive to make the tasks that usually define me become just tasks. Whether they are complete, incomplete, done well or half-assed, I give myself grace. And when that happens, wrinkled laundry will be just that......wrinkled laundry.