There Is Only One Of Us Here

There is this idea of a thing called the "Collective Unconscious", which was introduced by a psychiatrist named Carl Jung in the early 1900's. I find it fascinating. He proposes that there is this idea of a personal unconscious, which is a sort of reservoir of experience that is unique to each individual. It's that weird, underlying place in your brain that is responsible for things like dreams and deja vu and those gut reactions that who knows where they come from. Then, he says, there is also a collective unconscious, which is NOT unique to individuals but is inherent in all of us and is, at it's base level, universally the same in all of us. So he's saying that for all people (or things with souls, if you want to go there), there is a collective sameness in our psyches...that maybe, underneath our individuality and all the nuances that make us unique people, we've all got the same baseline thoughts and motivations and survival strategies. It's like a giant invisible cord or web that connects every person on the planet. I love it. I love individuality and I love diversity and I love that all humans are made of basically all the same parts...2 eyes, 2 ears, a nose, a neck, two legs....but the subtle differences in the way those things are put together make us all look completely different. I find that amazingly beautiful. So different and so much the same.

Then some spiritual teachers go even further than the idea that we're all linked by a similar nature. They go to the point of saying that at the most basic part, we are all exactly the same. Seven billion people. We are all exactly the same. There is only one of us here on this planet.

I have no idea if I agree with that idea or not. I don't need to agree or disagree but I think it's a beautiful concept. To be able to look at another person and instead of focusing on the things that are different about us, the things that we disagree on, to decide that in fact, you are not separate from me. That would make all the difference....for all of us, I think.

In her book, My Stroke of Insight, Jill Bolte Taylor writes about her experience having a stroke and describes what it was like to be functioning with only the right hemisphere of her brain. And she was a neuroscientist, so she has a really interesting perspective. Anyway, in the book she says this, "As members of the same human species, you and I share all but one hundredth of one percent of identical genetic sequences. So biologically, as a species, you and I are virtually identical to one another at the level of our genes. And there's only one hundredth of one percent difference, and that is what makes all the difference." That emphasis is mine but SERIOUSLY PEOPLE, all we can focus on are the minuscule things that make us different?

I've been going through some massive life changes lately. I'm learning about a billion new lessons daily, and I honestly realize the older I get, the less I really know. And that makes me a much better person. Some lessons come the hard way and some of them float nicely into my consciousness without too much struggle. But I'll tell ya what, the process of becoming a more authentic version of oneself is a painful process. Showing up and being real and allowing myself to be seen, really seen by people feels terrifyingly brave on a minute by minute basis. But it is necessary in order to have life, to be fully alive, to be LIVING instead of just NOT DYING. But it's raw and it's scary and to everyone else, a person being more authentic can just look different. You're acting differently, you're speaking differently, you're existing differently. And those things are scary because most of us surround ourselves with people who are mostly the same as we are. There's comfort in that, and it's not only societal, it's human nature.

I certainly have no answer for how to solve this problem. I'm not even sure that I'm suggesting it IS a problem...it's just how things are. But here's what I am suggesting: Love covers differences. Love stands in the gaps; those minuscule gaps that we train ourselves and our kids to see and to enlarge into barriers. And I'm not talking about love that floats out in space as this happy little conceptual idea. That kind of love says "Sure, I love you, as a feeling or a thought, but I don't really know how to love you, how to speak to you, how to show up, so I'm going to keep a safe distance". That doesn't cover differences, it's a response to differences and there's not a lot of vulnerability there. I'm talking about hands-on, feet in the trenches, dirty face, actual, practical, active love. That kind of love says, "I will do life with you. I will hear you out and I won't judge. Instead I'll use my energy to show compassion and meet your needs". And I think that's the only way we'll ever be able to know the hearts of the people who look or behave or believe differently than us. This is not a new or earth-shattering idea. I'm not that smart. It's been around for thousands of years and brilliant people have been teaching it since teaching was a thing. Buddha wasn't a Buddhist. Jesus wasn't a Christian. Muhammad wasn't a Muslim. They were teachers who taught love.

Brilliant.

Love was their religion.

And if those three met each other today, I think they'd sit down together at a rustic farm table, pour out some Guiness or some fair trade tea, and notice each others differences. They would notice, they would respect, and they would love. Hell, they might even TALK OPENLY about their differences. Horror of horrors. Love would stand in the gaps. What an outrage. And that would be their common ground...outraging those around them by having the audacity to actively love people who are different. Gosh I want to be their friend.

This feet-in-the-trenches love is something that I've never been good at. Like I said, it requires vulnerability and that's not something that I've ever been comfortable with but I'm trying it out for the first time. And guess what? It's not killing me! It's opening me up and I'm grateful for that. I'm grateful for the discovery that hey, there's only one of us here. There is no separation between you and I. We're the same. We're a couple of spirits trying to navigate our way through a rough world and we're both just doing our best. Cheers to that. To individuality and to the blessed sameness.



Ps...I'm also grateful for the bravery of these girls and their words. Crushing the differences and robbing stereotypes of their power. Amen.

Life lessons from swings and dark places

     I had a conversation with my four-year-old daughter the other day that was so enlightening to me. I had been at work during the day and I came home while my mom was playing outside with the kids. The boys were filthy and happy and bopping around the back yard but I could see that Ella was upset about something. She came and sat next to me while I tried to comfort her and to understand what was wrong. We were sitting close to my mom who explained to me that Ella had taken a sort of nasty fall off of her swing just a minute before I pulled in the driveway. Ella continued not to talk so I just assumed that she was embarrassed because of falling and I snuggled her a little bit and then let it go. About an hour later, after my mom had left and things were calm Ella climbed into my lap and said she was ready to tell me why she had been in a funk earlier. She said, "I fell off my swing and I fell right down onto my face and it really hurt."
     "Ok", I said. "I bet that did hurt and I'm so sorry about that. But Grandma asked you what was wrong and you wouldn't tell her. And I asked you what was wrong and you wouldn't tell me either. You need to use words to explain to us what's going on so that we can help you."
     "I just didn't want Grandma to worry about me," she said. I paused to try to understand why that mattered to her.
     "Well honey, people only worry about you because they care about you. How would you feel if you told Grandma that you got hurt and she said she didn't care? When someone loves you they never want to see you hurt or upset. It's hard for them."
     And then she kicked my ass.
 
     "But I just wanted her to let me be hurt and upset."

     Yes. I got it.
 
     Don't we all? Don't we all need that from the people we love sometimes? For them to just allow us to feel the hurt that we feel without trying to make it better, without the bright side, without us having to worry about what our own feelings will do to theirs? We don't need our people to be "strong" enough to handle us and handle our low points. We just need them to be ok enough and human enough to sit in our dark places with us and not be afraid and not scurry around to turn on the light because it feels safer that way. Please don't try to pick me up. Just lay down next to me and remind me that I'm not alone. Love me in this place the same way you loved me when I was feeling more whole, when I was a little easier to love. Lay down next to me...maybe not forever, but maybe just for as long as it takes me to learn to love myself in this place, to love myself through this trial.

     Sometimes, there are trials through which we simply cannot love the people we should or wish we could. I have had to let go of my own father because his level of toxicity was too much for me to bear and it began to rob me of my own health. It is the great sadness of my life that I don't really have a dad even though he's alive and we live in the same city, but what's more, that I couldn't find a way to love him in his dark place. And this has become a learned behavior for me. I am a person who can sense a needy person from four thousand miles away. I have sensors for this that have become hardwired into my nerve endings. If you begin to expect and demand too much from me, more than I think I can give, my red flags are ding, ding, dinging up ALL over the place. And then I will cut you off, freeze you out, and shut myself down just to protect my own well-being.

     I know now, that that only happens because I have a terribly hard time loving myself. I don't care if that sounds cliche, it is the absolute truth. And if you're nodding your head right now, it's likely that it is the truth for you as well. Some of us, if we were not loved well growing up, have not learned to love ourselves well in adulthood. There is always a little something inside us that tells us we are (for some unknown but deeply understood reason) unworthy of love and belonging. I am like a starving child over there in the corner and if you come at me asking me to share my lunch with you, an abundance which I certainly do not have to give (I can't even feed myself), I will cut you off, freeze you out, and shut myself down because can't you see I'm starving over here??

     This past year, I have taken a trip to hell and back...actually I'm not sure if I'm back yet but I am definitely stumbling along the rugged path. And it wasn't until I was in the place where I was asking my people to share their lunch with me, to love me in my dark place, that I learned how to give that love as well...to others AND to myself. I fell off my swing and slammed into the ground face-first and I needed to just sit with someone who would allow me to to be hurt and upset. And some of my people couldn't do it. I understand why because I have been that person and I have felt those red flags. But some people have absolutely blown me away with their ability to show love and compassion and to keep showing up even when I don't seem to be getting better. They have taught me how to love others and to love myself and I am so deeply and wholly thankful for those people that I don't even know what to do with it all.

     The thing is, I'll always be a wreck...in some form or another. That's just me and that's ok. The closet of self-improvement is a lonely place to be. I'm done with that. I'm just loving myself right here right now and showing up for life AS IS. And then, miraculously, that is the place where self-improvement happens. Who knew??

     I'm so grateful to be learning this lesson. I'm so grateful that I can be the kind of mom who allows my kids to be hurt and upset and struggling and confidently tell them that that's ok baby, I love you right here. Your confusion doesn't scare me, your mistakes don't make me uncomfortable, our disagreement on this subject doesn't negate my love for you one bit. I'm in it with you and FOR you no matter what knee you scrape or what your life ends up looking like. It is such a gift to be able to love myself this way and love my kids and other people this way. I've had some excellent teachers. None of them are perfect, they're all human and stumbling along their own rugged paths. And this is what I hope to show my kids. I want them to say, "she was human and she let it show and she never withheld love when I was human too."

     Thanks Ella, for showing me that it's ok to face-plant and to feel hurt for as long as necessary until I'm ready to get back on my swing again. The swing is worth it.

Life is Brutiful

I read a book a while ago called "Carry On, Warrior" by a woman named Glennon Doyle Melton. She also has a blog that's fantastic. If you are a human being and you find yourself having a hard time adjusting to life on this planet, do yourself a favor and read her stuff. She's one of the brilliant people I've found this past year who is helping me to get healthy in my head. And if you know me, you know that's one hell of an expedition.

So Glennon, she writes a lot about living in the "and/both". She says that a lot of people believe very deeply that things have to be "either/or", black or white, right or wrong, good or bad. But sometimes, LOTS of times, life and people are just so AND/BOTH. Yesterday was a glaring example that this is my truth. I am and/both.

I was at the hospital for a birth from noon on Monday to 2pm on Tuesday. This is and/both. I was very excited that one of my clients was going to be welcoming her baby into the world a few weeks early and I was elated to be able to be there with her and to support her. But by 3am, I'd say  both of our excitement was waning. She was strong and steadfast...I was exhausted. But I rallied and she was amazing and she birthed a beautiful baby boy the next day around 1pm. Being a doula is exceptionally gratifying AND very difficult. I mean, come on. I get to see people welcome their babies into the world. My job is to literally witness miracles. And people PAY me for it! That is ridiculous. I KNOW that I am doing what I'm supposed to be doing with my life because I come alive when I do it. Also, it's rough. It can be really physically demanding...during any given birth, I am often doing some form of rubbing, holding, pressing, lifting, jamming, shoving, or bending any part or whole of a woman. It's emotionally demanding...I respond to very different individuals in their most vulnerable moments with whatever they need most at that time. I may have to be comforting or stern, respectful but blatant, or reassuring, or soothing, or calming, or encouraging, or confident, or ALL of the above within the span of a few hours depending on what the situation demands. It's hard on my schedule because it's totally unpredictable. When I say goodbye to my kids, I have no idea how long it will be until I see them again. It's sometimes hard to piece together childcare. It's hard to have more than one glass of wine at any given dinner if I have a client on the calendar for any time that month. I mean come on, you gonna mess with my wine? You BETTER be having a baby. And it is tiring. I'm up for days at a time sometimes with a laboring mama and the difference between her and I (well, one of many) is that I don't have any awesome hormones coursing through my body enabling me to do hard work. But I've got love, and I've got a responsibility to a woman, and I've got determination not to let her down. My work is AND/BOTH. I love it deeply, AND it's rough at 3am. I am weary and drained of all my physical and emotional reserves AND in that moment I get to watch a woman hold her new born baby to her chest and they look at one another like they know each other so well and are still quite fascinated to be finally meeting. Both of those things peacefully coexist in the same space.

So yesterday after I left the hospital, I went home to relieve my mom from watching my kids. My plan was to let them watch TV until their brains completely rotted through so that I could sleep on the couch because I hadn't slept since the previous night. And about one minute into executing my awesome plan, I remembered that I had signed the twins up for a gymnastics class and their first class was happening in like an hour. Lawd have mercy. Ok. "Get you head in the game, Sam", I said to myself. I convinced myself to rally once again and get the kids ready and out the door to a full-filled new experience. Because my brain was at the point where it was figuratively shitting the bed, I had forgotten that new experiences are NEVER fun-filled for my kids. Maybe it's because I'm kind of a coddler or because they've never done daycare, or just due to their personalities, but they FREAK out when trying new things. So I totally forgot to dread this new experience and I got everyone into athletic clothes and out the door. When we got to gymnastics, I stopped into the office to let them know it was our first class and we were clueless. The office person told us we'd be with Miss Katie, or whatever her name was. She seemed adorably sweet so I reassured the kids that she would take good care of them and we got their coats and boots off and ready for class. They were both tentative but because I had zero compassion coursing through my veins at that moment, I told them to get THEIR heads in the game and get onto the floor. They each were crying as they walked out to do some stretching on a carpet square and I quietly asked if the universe could just do me a solid here and please help keep them calm. And THEN the adorably sweet teacher girl stood up and EXITED the floor and was replaced by a muscular, stern-faced, middle-aged MAN who began showing stretches to the kids and my kids LOST. IT. The other children in the class were unfazed as they pointed and flexed their little toes but both my kids turned around and ran out to me literally screaming and crying. As if he had just walked out there and bashed each of their heads with a baseball bat. They gripped my legs and clung to me as if their lives depended on it. And this scene was witnessed by no less than 50 other moms. I had no patience. I had no grace. I told them to stop their crying and get back out there. This was one of those times that I definitely should have said ANYTHING other than what I really thought but I just had no filter. They cried uncontrollably and I just sat there watching them and telling them I didn't feel bad, there was nothing wrong, and cry me a river, whatever, but get back out there! Not my best parenting moment. And I knew in my mind that ALL those other sweet, calm, moms were watching me and cringing at my lack of any human emotion and totally judging me and feeling sad for my kids that they had such a tyrant of a woman as their mother. And I seriously did not even care. A real low point. I sat there while they cried the kind of cries where they cannot even catch their breath and I just wagged my finger in their faces telling them to get over it and I thought I would have to either carry them out there by the scruffs of their necks, or completely fail and just take them home. But then came my second miracle of the day. One of the moms went out to the gym floor, fetched her son, brought him back to where I was angrily sitting with my wailing children, and helped him to ask Brett and Ella if they would like to go with him to bounce on the trampoline. Then the heavens parted and the angels sang, and B & E each wiped away their own tears and nodded a tentative yes to this kind little boy. And off they went to be with their class.  I looked at that mom from my spot on the floor with Levi still clinging to me and I dropped one dramatic tear and mouthed "thank you" from the bottom of my weary busted heart.

I mean this woman was thin and well-dressed and she was perfectly type cast for my brain-story of all the perfect, snotty, judgey moms throwing stones around me. I raggedly told her about how this is the third sport we've tried and I can't get my kids to stop crying through everything and I'm so tired of being the coddling mom and I'm so TIRED because I haven't slept in two days and I'm just not sure I'm doing anything right as a mother. And she hugged me and looked me in the eye and told me she had been there and was still often there. Then every other mom of every other kid in their class reassured me that they knew how I felt and that we are all positive that we're failing as parents. Seriously, it came right out of a Hallmark movie, people I cannot make this stuff up. Just when I was sure that I was awful and so were the people around me, they had compassion and came to my rescue. Yes, I was kind of rotten to my kids. Yes, I'm so freekin sick of them being scared of everything. I'm so freekin sick of ME being scared of everything. And yes, people can be mean and nasty but people are more often kind and caring and helpful and beautiful. And that was a really good reminder for me.  Brett and Ella never looked back at me for the whole class. They bounced, they flipped, they hung and spun and jumped and smiled for the entirety of the hour. THIS is and/both.

Gosh it was a really exhausting day. But I'm learning that you can only win when you are vulnerable. You've got to fall in order to prove that you can get back up. You've got to care for others and you've got to sometimes let yourself be cared for. I'm tired because I felt dogged and ragged and rescued and rejuvenated. I'm tired because it takes a lot of energy to be emptied out and then filled back up again. But this is life. It's not either/or.

Life is Brutal.  And life is beautiful. Life is brutiful.

Thank you, Glennon for teaching me that that's ok.

Good Riddance, 2013. Don't let the door hit ya.

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.

I couldn't think of anything original to explain that 2013 has been both the best and (among a few others, the) worst year of my life. Holy crap, I cannot wait to bid good riddance to this year. And I also cannot wait to continue the momentum of this year. I've been living in a massive dichotomy of being and I'm just so ready to stabilize. But maybe that's a pipe dream.

I haven't blogged in forever because it's basically just RUDE to blog from the depths of hell. Ain't nobody in a good mood down there, least of all me. And even though writing is a therapeutic release for me, blogging is entirely too public of an avenue to take when a journal will suffice and will never judge or disagree with me. Plus this year I've been focusing much more on intake than on output. So I read a lot. And a I write a little. But I've decided to return to my keyboard because I am finally lacking one key ingredient that has kept me away: fear. And oh I am a million times lighter without it.

This year began ugly. It's like when the ball dropped for 2013, they dropped it out of the ugly tree and it hit every branch on the way down and then it rolled into my living room and ran me over with all its ugly. And then from there, it got uglier.

I've had two entities basically rule over my whole life so far: fear and self-doubt. Every single decision I've ever made, every direction I've ever gone, every thought I've believed have been filtered through fear and through the assumption that I totally suck. There are one hundred thousand different factors that have influenced that behavior in me, none of which I'm going to drag you through, but it has been a vicious, vicious cycle. It goes around and around and it always ends up in the same place...more fear and self-doubt, self-loathing even, if I may be so dramatic. Twenty thirteen began in that very place.

And it's a little ironic that finally, oh sweet heavens FINALLY, I learned to just stop hating myself right in the midst of the ugliest I had ever been. For once, for the first time, I actually believed that there is NOTHING WRONG WITH ME. I mean, don't get me wrong...there are lots of things wrong with me. So. Many. Things. BUT...that's ok! I actually (through so many books, and journaling, and meditating, and introspection, and UNlearning a ton of what I had always been taught) believed that I'm alright. I mean...I didn't decide to ACT like I believed it, I didn't believe it in hopes that it would actually HAPPEN, I mean I wholeheartedly discovered that it is truth and it is a fact that I am good. I am enough. Just me. Right now. Just the way I am. It's not that I'll be good if I get my patience level up to a certain standard, or if I fit into a smaller size jeans, or if I pray an increased number of times per day, or if I bite the bullet and switch to organic chicken already. It's that I'm good now, today, here, just like this. I'm good with the mistakes I made today that I swore yesterday I wouldn't make again. I'm good with split ends. I'm good with feeding my kids boxed macaroni and cheese. I'm good with a house full of furniture from craigslist. I'm good even if I have to ignore my kids every once in a while to hide in a closet to play Ruzzle when I've hit my limit of how many times I can watch them jump off the couch and act like it was awesome before I LOSE MY GOURD.  I don't need to gain or change or achieve anything to finally be worth something.

Exhale.

I am not under the impression that I'm perfect. It's very much the opposite. I feel totally comfortable with my imperfections...well, ok, not ALL of them. I've got some couple thousand stretch marks that I'm not comfortable with. But I'm getting better. And...AND...I can finally stop holding every other person up to the same unachievable standard to which I held myself. And holy crow, nothing has been more liberating to me than that. And I have learned and practiced and loved the art of human connection...more on becoming a Doula later :)

So in that sense, it's been the best of times.

It's also been the worst of times, and I'm not going to write about that specifically. That's a story that needs to die. It's one of those things that probably doesn't have a silver lining. It won't be worked out for good. And I will say this, the idea that God won't give us anything we can't handle is total crap. Here is a great article for more on that. But truly, there are so many things in life that are beyond our ability to handle...or at least beyond our ability to handle with any sort of grace. And that's where I've been...in a graceless pile of crap. And trying to get out of that has been, well, trying. It's been exhausting, soul-sucking, frustrating, infuriating, and at times debilitating. But having to spend time debunking the myths in my life has also been freeing, enlightening, and life-giving. And I haven't quite landed yet. I'm still very much in process but I'm loving the direction in which I'm headed. And I love the people I'm headed there with. Being in the deep-dark can tend to be a serious sifting tool for the people in your life. It's been amazing to me to find who has stuck with me through my weird time in my ugly little chrysalis. I will be forever grateful to and forever in love with the friends who have stuck by me and supported me.

So come on 2013, just go away, I'm so over you. Let me start new and fresh and whole and accepted. Twenty-fourteen may be better or it may not, but I am better. Joseph Campbell says, "The privilege of a lifetime is being who you are". Now that I have finally allowed myself to be who I am, I'm looking forward to the privilege of my life, no matter what it brings. But it would be super awesome if it could drop just a little bit prettier ball into this year.

And surely you'll buy your pint cup.
And surely I'll buy mine.
And we'll take a cup o'kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

When God answers your prayers, you might want to jack someone up.

Some friends and I are just finishing up a bible study by Beth Moore called "Stepping Up". It's a study on the Psalms of Ascent. Specifically they are Psalms 120-134 and they are the words that the Hebrews sang as they made their way to Jerusalem to worship at the Temple. As a group, these Psalms are about becoming closer to God (as the pilgrims got closer to the Temple). Psalm 120 starts in a place of darkness, of "woe is me". And Psalm 134 ends in a place of praise and looking toward heaven.

In the study, at the conclusion of each Psalm, Beth (we're on a first name basis, she and I) encourages the reader to pull out the one most meaningful part of the Psalm and rewrite it in a personal way. About 10 weeks ago as I began the study, I rewrote part of Psalm 120 as a personal prayer. I asked God to deliver me from solitude.

This may seem like an odd prayer because I am married (to the most social human being on the planet), I spend my days caring for my MSC (many small children), and I have some great friends. I mean, I am almost NEVER alone. So deliverance from solitude seems like a peculiar thing to pray for but here's what I meant: I have two things working hard against me when it comes to relationships -

1) I am by nature (or nurture?) a non-communicator
and
2) I am exceptionally adept at the art of self-preservation

These things do not lend themselves to the ease of interpersonal relationships. I don't make friends terribly easily. I don't maintain them easily. It takes a lot of work and intentionality for me to feel like I've contributed a normal amount to someone.  And once I have gotten to the point that I feel close with a person, I will usually spend the rest of my days wondering when that person will finally run for the hills because of something I've said or done wrong. I feel like I'm constantly on the defense and guarding my heart juuuust enough so that I am not totally broken when the moment finally comes that someone I care about will inevitably give up on me. Let's not go into all the twisted reasons that I think like this...I pay someone top dollar to sit in a room with me and hash that crap out. POINT BEING...I feel that I am often in solitude because I'm rarely totally involved or totally vulnerable to others, so I feel kind of alone a good chunk of the time.

And the beauty of that sad situation is that I serve a God who is not scared of my heavy. He hates that I preserve myself because he's the author and empower-er of vulnerability. He created us to need him and to need one another. So I know that when I ask him to deliver me from solitude, I can EXPECT him to come through on that. He is happy to oblige. And he is strong enough to pull me up out of it. He is absolutely bringing me victory. I expected him to...I just didn't know it would have to involve so much more heavy.

I don't really have a ton of friends. I have a handful of girls that I am absolutely head over heels for and I am honored to call them my besties. Ok, I never actually say the word "besties", but I am honored that they ever choose to spend time with me. And lately it seems like almost every one of them is going through something SO heavy and so heart-wrenching and so life-changing. Ya know those people who say "don't sweat the small stuff"? And that it's really all just "small stuff"? I'm in a season of life where I am ready to jack those idiots up.

I have a friend who has fought with everything she has in her for SO long now just to save her father's life and to hopefully have him show her love the way a father should. No little girl should ever have to fight for her daddy to love her. Or ever have to fail.

I have a friend who has had a deep desire to be a mama for her whole life and she just had to look at her fourteenth negative pregnancy test.

I have a friend who remembers her youngest child by looking at two tiny ink footprints on a piece of paper that the hospital gave to her.

I have a friend who just brought home two sweet children from Ethiopia to be part of their family. Those kids are showing signs of so much hurt and brokenness in the deepest parts of their souls and there are no quick answers on how to help heal them.

It's not all small stuff.

Sometimes it's huge. Sometimes it's heavy. And sometimes it happens to all the people you love all at the same time.

These are certainly not my stories to tell. It's not happening to me and it's not my  heavy. But oh my word, I cannot believe how heavy it feels. I've spent most of this afternoon in tears over all the things that are having to be endured by the people I love. There is no separation happening here. Is this what vulnerability feels like? Is this the byproduct of a lack of preservation? It's hard. I get why I haven't really done it for almost 30 years. But I get that the Lord is teaching me something. If one is going to come out of solitude, one will have to bear their wounds and be willing to help suture the wounds of others.

I feel so so blessed in my life for the friends that I have. I am awful at expressing that to them, but I'm pretty convinced that I have stumbled onto the best group of girls on the planet. They are each a specific answer to prayer for me. And Jesus is teaching me how to love them. He's showing me a tiny fraction of what it feels like to carry the burdens of others. It's painful. It's messy. It begs my tears and robs my sleep. But what a lesson to learn from the One who carried the heavy for all of us. He literally wrote the book on it.

I'm so thankful for this lesson. Although I ache so badly for the ache in the hearts of others. I know my God does too. I don't know why he allows these things to happen. But I know that he is good in the face of it all. My prayer is that this season of "woe is me" will give way to a season of praise. It may be a long journey but I have faith that God will hold our hands up those steps if we're brave enough to put one foot in front of the other.

"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." -Psalm 30:5

That's a promise, friends. Joy cometh.

Mama's got a brand new bag

I gained 75 lbs. when I was pregnant with the twins.

Let me repeat that.

SEVENTY FIVE POUNDS! That is a TEENAGER. I could have strapped a teenage girl to my person and walked around for months. It probably would have been much more attractive than what was actually going on anyway.

So this pregnancy was a little easier on me, I only gained 50 lbs. Moderate. And now I have 30 left of those to lose. I know this information is really nobody's business but I'm about to lose it...the weight, not my mind. And I figure that if I throw it out there to blogger who-knows-how-many-people-may-be-reading-this land, then I'll have a little extra accountability because I'll be mortified if I say I'm going to lose it and then I don't. I had to wait for two things in order for the weight loss to commence. The first was that I had to stop, uh, how shall I say this?...the continuing effects of giving birth. And the second was that we had to be back in the place where I was making all of our meals. There were so many wonderful, generous people bringing us meals after Levi was born and I appreciated it so much, but if my thighs had endure one more pot pie, things were gonna get ugly. So both of those things have, in fact, come to an end and I am now ready to roll.

So I officially signed up for Weight Watchers again today. I was so completely irritated inspired by Jennifer Hudson strutting her skinny swag all over the walls of the place. She looked so happy to have lost her teenage girl. So I'm on board. Great. Say goodbye to a lot of money per month and and say hello to so much brussel sprouts.

The other thing I'm doing is a "Couch to 5K" running program. This is totally miserable for me. It's great exercise and it's like running for dummies but I'll tell you what...for a person who HATES running with the passion of a thousand fiery demons, this ain't easy.  I mean, my newborn is not really on a nap schedule yet and the twins only nap once a day for an hour and half. So in order for all three of my kids to be sleeping at the same time, all the cosmos and the stars need to align and God himself must bestow his favor upon my day. And when that happens, I have one gojillion things to do that I can choose from like, oh I don't know:
throw in a load of laundry
shower
catch up on Glee or Idol or DWTS
clean up after breakfast/lunch/dinner from the night before
read a book
So why, why, WHY would I throw all of those options aside and instead VOLUNTARILY enter into CARDIAC ARREST?? I mean really I'm not being modest when I say that I'm not a good runner. But so help me, if I have to listen to this song on repeat in my ear buds until I reach my goal I WILL do it. I'm going to run a lovely 5k at Sodus Point in July. There, I said it. Now hold me to it. I'm begging you to ridicule me if I don't do it. Unless I go into actual cardiac arrest. Then please just shut up and send flowers. Thanks.

So there it is, my own little mommy makeover. Now with my spirits rising, let's hope my weight shall be plummeting and all shall be well again. Wish me luck and cheer me from the sidelines.

But not like this.

I am clearly a bad ass punk

Let me tell you a little story.

About three years ago, Lara and a few other girls invited me to go to Buffalo with them for a little weekend away. Not sure why Buffalo was the destination but it didn't matter because I didn't have any kids or any reason not to take a weekend for shopping and eating out and putzing around and doing whatever we felt like. So we did that for a day and then we got a little bored and decided we should all get tattoos as a great way to pass the time. We talked about what we wanted, made decisions, searched the yellow pages for a tattoo parlor in Buffalo, and went on our way. We pulled into the parking lot and there stood a group of guys with probably thousands of tattoos and piercings between them, with their tight pants sagging, chains hanging, using curse words and smoking probably thousands of cigarettes. It was a petrifying sight to my suburban eyes. So like a spring-loaded knee-jerk reaction, I threw my body down onto the back seat of the car so as not to be seen by the hoodlums and shouted "Oh my God there's bad ass punks!". I was serious. Lara laughed a lot at me for that and hasn't stopped for 3 years.

Well yesterday, we WERE the bad ass punks. I don't believe that I cursed at all (if you don't count all the times I said "bad ass") and I know I didn't smoke any cigarettes but for some reason we felt like total punks, like some little suburban girls should be really scared of us this time.

Listen, just let me exist in my fantasy world, would you?

Anyway, both of our tattoos are deeply meaningful to us in our lives right now and I will let Lara blog about her own story if she wants (which you could catch over here). But seriously, I mean what punks:

Having just come out of a fairly long season of depression in my life, I'm realizing now more than ever just how important it is to be thankful for exactly what God has given me, whether I enjoy it or not. I wrote this post about my journey being fully present, living in the moment, and having gratitude for whatever that moment brings. Although with small children it's nearly impossible to ENJOY the things that happen to me every single minute (as clearly depicted by this fabulous blog post, which you should find hilarious if you have any sort of decent sense of humor), I am trying very hard to not be the one who decides what is "good" and what is "bad"...it's just all God-given and it's all for a reason. And there were so many times during my pregnancy when I could not get through the cloud of "bad" that lived in my head. I couldn't get any dialogue going between God and I because I just didn't even have anything to say. Depression is like that, it just sucks all your energy away. No energy to be happy or playful or talkative or much of anything. And when I had no words to say to God, nothing to ask him for or talk with Him about, I often found that all I could say was "Thank you." It was the only prayer I could muster up. I didn't even say what I was thankful for because I probably had no idea. But I knew that "thank you" was worship and it was enough.

Yeah, it hurt. For only like 5 minutes though and not that bad because remember how I gave birth to a child 3 weeks ago? But please do still consider me bad-ass.

So I will continue to give thanks. I figure that if I have to be reminded of one thing every single day for the rest of my life it should be to live with gratitude and to continually thank the Giver of all good things. Because I very much believe that one cannot live without hope, and cannot thrive without gratitude. I'm going for more than just life. I'm going for life to the full. Isn't that why Jesus came in the first place? I think I'll take Him up on that :)

I'm just a little black rain cloud

I'm sorry that I've been a blogging failure for pretty much the past six months. My pregnancy was pretty rough, emotionally speaking, and I feel like my hormones have ruled and schooled me. I was no match for them. I didn't feel depressed during or after my pregnancy with the twins so this was new for me. I had a patient husband and supportive and forgiving friends, which were God's gifts to me and the things that got me through. I don't think I've ever been so grateful for grace and a long-suffering Savior who loves me relentlessly, even at my most unlovable times. Anyway, it's hard to be in the deep-dark. It's hard to to even speak, let alone write anything worth anybody's time to read when you're in the deep-dark. So I just didn't.

But alas, I have news.

I am back. Our baby boy was born two weeks ago and I'm happy to say that my dark cloud has been lifted. Since I wasn't exactly pumped about meeting him and having him upset the biorhythm of our family, I was very excited to find that in fact I do really REALLY love him. Oh, it's such a good feeling. When the twins were born it was like every cell in my body woke up to love them. And I was so afraid and almost convinced that I would not, could not feel that again. And when we got home with our new baby and I looked at the three of them, I thought it was probably a bad choice to have another child because surely my heart could NOT take it. I am sometimes afraid that I am actually going to burst from having so much love for them and I cannot believe that so much feeling can fit into my tiny frail heart. Truly, my cup runneth over. In such a good way.

After 24 hours of "early" labor and 14 hours of active labor, Levi Joseph was born via a safe and successful VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) on March 10th at 9:59pm. He was 7lbs. 3oz. and 19.5 inches long. My ultimate goal during his labor was to avoid another c-section, which I did accomplish. I did also set out to have a totally non-medicated labor but that part didn't happen. I caved to an epidural for a number of reasons and looking back, I don't regret that decision. All was well in the end.

So I am in love again. Brett and Ella made me a momma, Levi is making me a better one, and somehow Joe is still with me through all of it. And I am happy to be happy again. Those hormones were awful while they lasted and I shan't miss them, but I will say that they were worth whatever havoc they wreaked on my mind and body to bring me that sweet baby boy. And every time I look at him I know for sure that he was always intended to be here. Long before he was conceived by surprise to two human beings, he was conceived in the mind God who formed him and knew him fully and chose him for this time and for our family. He was intended for us and that is nothing short of a miracle. What could possibly be deep-dark about that??

Choose Love

As you know, the world is going to hell in a hand basket.

The times, they are a changin. I mean, I can't count how many ways the world is different than it was just since I was in college...and that wasn't even a decade ago! The world is getting more liberal by the day and it's scary.

I'm currently in the throes of choosing a preschool for the twins for next year. I know they're only going to be three but I feel really sure that it's a good move for us personally. No, I'm not homeschooling even though I'm a teacher AND a Christian...shocking, I know. Anyway, in less than a year they will be "students" of someone, some nice preschool teacher. It will only be a few hours a day, two days a week, which is really no big deal. But it feels like a gateway. To me, it feels like this is just the first small step in my releasing them into the hands of the world. Because next year it's two days a week, then the year after that it's three days a week, and then they're in kindergarten and they will actually see me for a lesser amount of time per day than they see their teacher. So far, Joe and I have been in control of almost 100% of their formative years. Those years aren't over yet but next year will be the first time that we're introducing a new "teacher" and authority figure into their lives. Not to mention the influence of other children, other children's parents and older sibling, and the mixed teachings that they may all receive and talk about in the presence of my kids. Oh heaven, I have to check my pulse just thinking about it.

In getting advice from other parents we respect, a few of them have told us that choose to send their kids off to school with a few short, simple, but very important go-to rules or mantras to focus on. Things like "Have fun, learn something, and treat others with respect" or "Think for yourself, be caring, and be responsible." Which I think is a really great strategy and I'm still working on my most important school rules for them but it's got me thinking what if I could send them into LIFE with one giant lesson that I wanted them to grasp it would just be to choose love. Choose to love people even when you disagree with them, dislike them, or don't roll with the same crowd as them. It really is a choice, and a choice that's easier made when it's practiced and it becomes a natural response rather than something you have to force yourself to do.

I hate when Christian parents keep their kids home when their high schools do a Day of Silence (which is a active day of protest against the harassment and bullying of lesbian and gay students). As if to say, there is just no way my child will stand in support of the clearly sinful lifestyle choices of their peers. It kills me. Have we become so closed minded to, so afraid of, so put off by what we see as sin that we can't even let our kids get anywhere near it? Now don't get me wrong, I understand what the Bible says about homosexuality and I believe the Bible is truth. But I also know my Jesus. I know how he behaved and what he chose and who he hung out with and there is NO WAY he would have stayed home from school that day. He would have chosen love. Can we teach our kids to abstain from judgement even when we disagree with others and just choose to love them because they're God's children too?

I come from a long line of very racist people on both sides of my family. "Black jokes" were a pretty regular pastime where I came from and I never could have dark-skinned friends without an extra dose of suspicion and unmerited judgement from my father.

One time in high school I began to befriend a boy who was quite a loner and through many conversations he admitted to me that he was a cutter and struggled with some serious depression. Of course, being the shallow blonde chick that I was in high school, I had no idea what to do with such information (the deepest thing I struggled with at the time was where in my bedroom to place my next Hanson poster), so I came home and asked my parents what to do and how to help this kid. I was instructed to stay away from him, lest he corrupt me with his trench coat style and menacing ways.

People, I didn't stand a chance.

I have GOT to give my kids a chance. I'll spend all of the years they are in my care trying to teach them that Jesus is the ultimate authority in our lives and what he says is wrong, is wrong. And what he says is right, is right. That ALL have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. And that it was for LOVE that Christ spread his arms and died for those sins of mine and theirs and others. We will not agree with the life choices of others (and please don't think that I'm implying that skin color or homosexuality or depression are life choices). But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. And that means that we will serve the gay goth kid in the same way that we serve the home schooled girl with braids.

So go ahead world, get liberal. See if we care. WATCH us care.

Change of plans...

Well, as if enough change hasn't been happening in our lives lately....let's throw in an unexpected pregnancy! That should be fun!

Ok, let's recap. A few months ago I was feeling exceptionally tired, but that's to be expected when your husband is changing jobs, you're moving, and your twins are about to turn two, right? Except that one day I just HAD to take a nap. And I am NOT a napper. I loathe naps. I hate the way they steal my daylight and my productivity and make me feel groggy and disoriented. So I knew something was up the day I knew it wasn't an option to not give in to my need for sleep in the middle of a beautiful sunny summer day. So I took a test. It was all kinds of positive. The scene unfolded like this: I stood at the bathroom counter with my mouth agape and my eyes bulging out at that ridiculous looking plus sign. Speechless. How did this happen??? I mean I know HOW it happened, thank you Abby Hanson, but how did this HAPPEN?? And in walks Joe. On his way to pee. Out of the corner of his eye he notices the stick and with an early morning squint he leans back into a half-limbo position to get a good look, checks it out, and keeps on going with the intent to pee like nothing is going on. With a yawn, he casually confirms, "yep, that's positive." Thank you dear. I see that. Why are you not SHOCKED and TOTALLY ALARMED??

Anyway, it took a while to sink in. Actually it's still sinking in. Ever since the twins were six months old, we knew the Lord was calling us to adopt our next child. Our adoption agency has a policy that if an adopting couple becomes unexpectedly pregnant, their case will be put on hold until their youngest biological child is one year old. We knew this all along because we had to sign papers saying that we would immediately disclose any information on changes to our family structure to our social worker. As soon as I saw that plus sign I knew the plan had changed. We wouldn't be able to adopt. At least not for a long time. That was such a crazy mix of emotions for me. I didn't have to adjust to the idea that there was a baby on the way...I just had to wrap my brain around the differences on how it was going to come to us. For a solid year I've had visions of a beautiful brown baby in my arms. I've imagined meeting our child's birth mother, but not BEING our child's birth mother. I've dreamt about getting a phone call that changes our lives forever. I've wished to be a safe place for a child that doesn't have one. So my first thought was, "Why Lord are you allowing this to happen when your plan was so clear?" I NEVER questioned whether adoption was the next step for us and I felt like it was always only confirmed everywhere I looked.

So I don't have the answer. I wish I could say that God revealed something to me that made it all make sense. And I don't think God changes his mind. I'm not following a fickle deity. He is wise and He is good and He DOES have it all figured out. I just don't. And that's ok with me for now. I don't need to have the answers. But I will say (sparing the details) that I am ONLY pregnant right now because SO many stupid details lined up exactly as they needed to be in order for that to happen. So I do know that God's got his hand on this and it's in the plan and again, I'm just here for the ride. What else is new?

So we were shocked but we are blessed. I am so excited to be able to carry ONE child!! I think I will love being pregnant this time around and I will love birthing one baby and nursing one baby :) How privileged we are to be held in the palm of a perfect God.

Due March 13th, 2012. Three kids under 3 should be a good time :) Bring on the chaos.

Blessings still abound during a tiring week...

131) the sound of rain while I'm sleeping

132) the smell of brownies baking

133) the ability to purchase a can of paint in any color I want

134) trustworthy babysitters

135) dinners out with family

136) having a house to come home to

137) sleeping in until 7:30

138) napping while it's raining

139) living in a country where a big truck comes and takes our garbage away

140) hearing Brett say "thank you" loud and clear instead of "du du"

141) hearing Ella say "tankth" with her sweet little lisp

When it rains, it pours.

It's been a dry summer here in upstate New York. April showers brought May flowers as usual but since then it's been dry enough to kill all the grass in sight. And for anyone who knows my strange addictions, you know I'm just praying that the pumpkin harvest will still be successful this year.

But for the last week or so it's been raining like crazy. It's like somehow the clouds just stored it up for months and are finally letting it all out. I know how that feels. I'm a stuffer. I can plug it up and hold it in until I get so full I just bust. And it's all kinds of ugly.

That was like this summer for us. It started out pretty uncertain, but slow. We had a child "on the way" through adoption (not a specific child but just the possibility looming over us), we were moving but we didn't know where, Joe was changing jobs but we had no idea what the heck he actually did for a living (ok that was just me, and maybe still is). So we lived in this state of uncertainty but nothing was really moving forward. Just a lot of waiting.

So then about a month ago my mom's fiance, Ron passed away. That was hard. And we bought a house. Not hard...exciting, but for a woman, that's an emotional investment just to try to think about making some strange house your home. Then we started packing. Not fun, but fine. Then last week came and we closed on the house. We bought a wonderful house with great "bones" in a neighborhood that we love but it really needed a lot of love and a little face-lift. So we spent a week letting other people watch the kids so that I could come and start painting as much as possible before we moved in. I would come during the day, and then come at night after the kids went to bed. And some nights I would stay home and Joe would go to the new house and bring tons of boxes and do some more painting. I didn't see my kids or my husband for a week and I was so off of my normal routine. And there are few things I love more than routine.

And we hired a dry wall guy. Worst experience ever. This guy stunk. At first I thought he was a bit like a good doctor with poor bedside manner...like he did good work but not so great with communication (as in, he didn't even show up or call a few times that he was supposed to come and he also flooded our basement without telling us. Oops, must have slipped his stupid mind). Then he finished...or actually, he just stopped coming and Joe fired him and the finished product isn't really that great. So we're hiring some more contractors to come and fix his "mistakes". Stressful.

And this Saturday Ron's son got married. It was a beautiful occasion and they are an amazing couple and I was so happy to see them on the happiest day of their lives, but it was a little difficult feeling the lack of Ron's presence at an event where he would have been so happy and proud. It was really difficult for my mom, which made me a little bit of a wreck on her behalf. She did pretty well but of course there were tough moments to get through but I was proud of her overall.

And one of my uncles lost his four year battle with cancer this week. We attended the calling hours on Sunday and the funeral mass yesterday (Monday). I will write more about those things later but these events came with some massive anxiety for me because my Uncle Doug is my dad's brother, which meant that of course my dad was going to be there and the idea of seeing him always makes me dig up all my defenses before I've even been attacked. My anxiousness about seeing my dad was only rivaled by my sadness for my Aunt and cousins who were grieving the loss of the strongest part of their family.

TOO. MUCH.

This all just got to be WAY too much for me. A dry summer interrupted by a solid week of rain. I had a meltdown. It wasn't pretty. I couldn't hold it together for my kids or my husband, I just broke under the weight of it all. And each of those issues in themselves would have been ok, I could have stuffed it and then let it out slowly but adding them all together in one week was just too stinkin much. I couldn't sift through it fast enough to keep up.

God was speaking to my heart, trying to remind me that paint colors are terribly trivial and that any house is a home as long as my family is there and that death is a certain part of life. But I was too full to listen. Way too full of worry and self interest and anxiety and all the things He tells me to throw away because they're a waste of my time. Will I ever listen?

"From the end of the earth I call to you

when my heart is overwhelmed.

Lead me to the Rock that is higher than I,

for you have been my refuge,

a strong tower against the enemy.

Let me dwell in your tent forever!

Let me take refuge under the shelter of your wings!"

-Psalm 61:2-4

But it's true that His joy comes with the morning. And today is a new day and we have a home to live in and I have a beautiful family and a God who holds me when it seems like I'm drowning in the downpour. It's still raining today but the boxing bell rang and I'm in my corner and I don't know if this will be a brief time-out or a nice long season of calm. But I do know that my hope endures and my God is the same today as he was yesterday and ten million years ago and the same as he will be tomorrow. Rain or shine.

All in a day's work

Yesterday was a full, fun summer day. My mom and I took the kids to the Rochester Museum of Play where they....played. A lot. My mom and I were pretty much exhausted after chasing them around for two hours, and two hours really isn't that long to be in a place like that.

Just upon leaving, little Ella's elbow lost it's socket a little bit and she (rightfully) freaked out. Now, this same exact thing happened to her last weekend on our way out to the lake. We had to turn around and take her right to the doctor. *sidenote: last week's dislocation happened at about 4:45pm and by 5:30pm, we had been the pediatrician, gotten her fixed, and were back on our way. I LOVE this country!* Anyway, while we were at the doctor, he said that this "nursmaid's elbow" was very common in kids between ages 1 1/2 and 4 and could possibly happen many more times, so he showed us how to fix it ourselves if it should happen again. So yesterday when my mom said she heard the thing pop out, we knelt down beside the carousel, I said a little prayer and did a little twisting and shoving and she was good as new! I was very excited about that.

Well we came home, had some lunch, and I put the kids down for a nap. I was feeling pretty productive so I did some cleaning and some packing (since we're moving in less than two weeks).

Joe got home early which happens often on Fridays but is never any less awesome. So when the kids woke up we took them outside to play. Well, Joe played with them and I sat and read a book/supervised. There is just something so good about sitting outside with sunshine on my face, a book in my hand, watching my husband and kids run through a sprinkler together holding hands and laughing. I don't care if you think that's cheesey, it's my life and I love it.

Then we had some lame summer dinner scrounged up from the contents of our fridge. After dinner we went out for ice cream and when Brett got up to the counter to order, he slammed his open hand on the counter in front of the nice girl's face and yelled "black and white and black and white!", with a slam designated to each word of that incoherent sentence. Which, in his language meant, "two twists please"...but a little more rude.

Ice cream + cones + 2 toddlers = total disaster ALWAYS. Why do we put ourselves through this? I guess because the kids love it and what is summer without a lot of sticky ice cream residue stretching from INSIDE one ear to the other. After that, it was back home for a quick baby-wipe bath (perfect for the filthy child and exhausted parent combo) and the children were off to bed. Whereupon we turned on the Yanks game and sat still for the first time in 24 hours.

Just a pretty typical day in our home (save for the fairly serious injury and me playing ER doctor). And what a wonderful life it is.

Processing

This weekend was completely exhausting. It started on Thursday when we lost my mom's fiance, Ron, to cancer. He had been battling cancer for upwards of 8 years and just this past April he went in to have surgery on his kidneys and at that point the doctors said he had 3-6 months to live. What a crime to put an expiration date on someone's life. And yet they were right.

He was such a loud and boisterous man...in a great way. Always ready with a joke and hug that left me smelling like his cologne for the rest of the day. He was a Nazi in the kitchen, needed everything his way and nobody got IN the way...even in MY kitchen :) He was a lover of poker, fishing, boating, vacationing, joking, margaritas, suspenders, cigars, Wegmans, Dean Martin, golfing, hunting, cologne, and my mom. I hated watching him become skinny and quiet, it was like I didn't know what to do with him or how to talk to him because it just wasn't the guy I was used to. So I was happy that he didn't have to suffer any more but sad for the loss of a man that I really adored and especially sad that my mother lost her life partner.

His funeral was held on Saturday morning with a reception afterward and it seemed like a little bit of a whirlwind. I know that everyone grieves in their own way but I hate when people don't talk about those they've lost. Luckily, Ron doesn't have that kind of family. I think they'll do a great job of keeping Ron alive through stories and laughs and drinks that he loved. It's so healthy to talk about the losses in our lives and to free ourselves to feel whatever it is we feel when we do that. So today I feel a little sad for maybe the first time since he passed....forgive me, I'm a slow processor. But I'm going to be grateful that he was so good to my mom, and a father-figure to my brother, and friend to my sister and I.

So I'll dedicate a few of my blessings today to him:

1) the loud, cackling laugh that was so infectious

2) the human ability to fight for what we think is worth it

3) living in a country with amazing medical care available

4) food, and the joy it brings :)

5) breathing in second hand smoke from a cigar...one of my favorite smells

The Road to NOW

I'm starting a journey.

I think we're all usually on some kind of journey in life whether we realize it while it's happening or not. But this one that I'm about to embark on is very intentional and I'm aware of it and pretty excited about it.

I just recently finished reading the book "One Thousand Gifts" by Ann Voskamp. It's an exceptional book about her personal journey through the lessons that brought her to a place in her life where she could be consistently grateful and content. Which is a HUGE feat. Let me disclaim that I personally HATE her writing style. It's all crazy and choppy and abstract and she straight up refuses to use pronouns like "my" or "his" or use her children's names which drives me absolutely bonkers. But once I got used to her style, I was able to enjoy it. It's like the Christian movie "Fireproof"...once you realize that nobody acting in that movie is about to be up for an Academy Award, you can actually relax and enjoy the story line instead of feeling awkward every time someone speaks.

Without going into too much detail recounting the book, Ann Voskamp basically describes all the ways that keeping a continual awareness of our blessings and maintaining an attitude of thankfulness is like a wellspring of deep joy for ALL situations, even the ones that are crappy. At first I was very skeptical like right, who's going to tackle this giant concept? Who REALLY gets this?? But by the end, I got it. It's like I just had to flip my thinking upside down. Once we realize that we're not OWED anything, we're not entitled to anything, and we don't deserve anything...EVERYTHING becomes a gift. Each moment is a blessing directly from God, even if that moment feels frustrating or annoying or exasperating. It's still what the Lord is choosing to give us and it's up to us to thank Him for what He knows is best.

Of course, that is easier said than done and it's easier in some moments than it is in others.

But even as someone who absolutely LOVES my life, I am so often just trying to make it through the days. Waste time until bedtime. Sometimes the days seem to drag on forever but then all of a sudden a month has gone by and I can't believe it.

Do I love my job as a mom?

Yes.

Do I adore my husband and children more than anything?

Yes.

Do I appreciate my life and my blessings?

Yes.

Do I find it immensely irritating when people ask themselves questions and then answer them?

You have no idea.

But still. I wake up WAY too many mornings just wondering what in the world I'm going to do to pass the time today without two toddlers going crazy in my house. And I hate that. I want to be present in every moment because I know these moments will be gone much too quickly. I want to appreciate my days for whatever they are, whether they're boring or stressful or tiring or crazy. So strategy to achieve that goal is to train my heart to become thankful in every moment and situation by thanking God for every blessing that I notice. I'm going to write them down in a journal (or two or three) and see if I can get to 1,000 (that's what Voskamp does in her book). And my hope is that by the time I get to 1,000 written blessings I will have obtained the heart habit of looking for and noticing God's gifts in the (seemingly) ordinary minutes and hours and days of my life, and therein turning the mundane to the miraculous.

My God is so good. I know that in my marrow, but it's about time I start noticing His goodness even when I'm frazzled and pissed. Can I get an Amen??

Ok, I might as well start right now, publicly. Here are my first five written blessings in no particular order and of no ranking importance:

1) Ella's sweet sweaty curls when she wakes up from a summer nap

2) A cool, breezy morning at the playground with good friends and our many offspring

3) The joy of watching friends' bellies swell with life

4) Buying a pair of size 8 jeans and actually zipping them

5) Smoothies made with fresh fruit from the market

Life is good, is it not? Thanks for taking my first steps with me.

Failure and Change

It's been recently brought to my attention that I am a total failure as a blogger. And I was neither shocked nor offended by this opinion. But let me explain the reason for my failure. The problem is that I am a total stuffer. As in, I stuff my thoughts and feelings so as to avoid drama and tough conversations. My entire upbringing was largely defined by drama and tough conversations, so my instinct is to avoid those shenanigans at all costs. So when it comes to blogging I always just figure that nothing's going on and I have nothing to say.

Well at this point nothing could be further from the truth. Actually, it's maybe 50% truth. EVERYTHING'S going on, and I have nothing to say. Welcome to my life.

Joe always says that the only two descriptive words I have in my vocabulary are "nice" and "good".

"What do you think about these?"

"Nice."

"How was your day?"

"Good."

"How do you feel about American politics with relevance to Christianity?"

"Good."

"What do you think is the solution to all the injustice going on the world today?"

"We should be nice."

You get the picture. So now I will attempt to explain the last 3 months of my life and use slightly more descriptive words to convey my feelings about it.

First, Joe quit his job. He was really good at what he did but it just wasn't his dream. I know this is probably true of most people with the job that they're in, and heck, it's a JOB. The purpose of having a job is to make money to be able to live and support a family. But it doesn't always have to end there. He's got so much talent and I'm continuously impressed by the way his mind works when it comes to business and entrepreneurship. So he talked about quitting for a long time and had made up his mind that he was going to do it but was feeling tentative about when and how. This went on for a few months and finally I just got a little fed up. I thought if he was going to leave me at home with two toddlers every damn day, then he better at least be doing good work! So I told him one morning "I feel like you leave for work every day but you're not actually working or accomplishing anything." And that day he quit. I assumed it was a largely selfish standpoint for me. As a family, we need him to make our income, so of course he should have a job. But I thought he better have a great reason for leaving us every day, not just a hum drum redundant thing.

So now people ask me what his new job is and I have to answer that I don't actually know. God's blessed us so much in that Joe is able to work along side his dad, which is something he's always wanted to do. But he's able to do his "own thing" (which I believe might actually be his job title). He's consulting for a lot of different companies (which I think means that they pay him to give them good advice??) and I know he sometimes sits in an office and then other times he goes to meetings. And I know I get pissed if he's home later than 5pm. I already said I was selfish.

Ok, so that happened. Big change.

Also, we're moving.

One day my sweet crazy husband came home and said "I have some people coming to look at the house at 6:00" (this was at about 4:30). And I said "what do you mean 'look at the house'?" And he said "like to buy it." Right after completely freaking out, I made dinner, cleaned the house, freaked out some more, got really crabby, and then pretended to be a gracious hostess while some people came to look through our house. Long story short, they bought the house and we had to hurry up and find a new one. There are, of course, many reasons why this whole thing actually made a lot of sense and why our marriage didn't crumble over it, but I will spare my lovely readers the details and just ask you to trust me. So it came down to the wire, but we found a new house in time and now we're just waiting to close on both houses. We'll be Penfield residents in about a month! I'm pumped.

Also, we have a baby on the way.

It is not the fruit of my womb, we've talked about this, we're still in the middle of our adoption. Sort of stuck stagnant lately and I don't want to talk about it. But we have a baby on the way and we don't know who and we don't know when and we don't know from where. But we know our God is TRUSTWORTHY and good and this was HIS idea so that is where we rest.

Also, my babies are turning two years old in a few weeks. Oh good grief, how did that happen?? I feel like their first year was definitely the longest year of my life but I don't even know where the last 12 months have gone. It feels so fast and I just want them to stay small forever but alas, they are growing rapidly and talking CONSTANTLY and continuing to capture my heart day by day. They are my sweetest blessing and I am working my dream job by raising them.

So we are in a season of change and unknowing. And honestly, it's good for my soul. I know most people say they hate change but I love it. In addition to the drama and tough conversations which plagued my childhood...that time of life was also characterized by a lot of unpredictability. So I reside very comfortably in an often-changing environment. I actually tend to feel like something is wrong if I've been in the same routine for too long. So I'm enjoying all this for the most part, it's kind of a rush.

And I promise to try to be less of a blogging failure in the future.

Is it possible to be still on a roller coaster?

Ok, I'm going to level with you here. This whole adoption process thing totally blows. I'm exhausted. Right now Joe and I are smack in the middle of our second roller coaster ride of adoption and to be honest, I really thought I was going to handle it better than I actually am.

Our first crazy ride happened back in November and involved the possibility of adopting boy/girl twins who were due at the beginning of January...which would have meant we would have been trying to survive having 4...count them, FOUR...children under the age of 18 months. Which, honestly, we were totally up for. We figured that we just wouldn't leave our house for approximately 3 years but after that we'd be golden. We were actually really pumped about the possibility of it happening. Needless to say it did not work out but it was totally consuming for about the span of a week. It's hard to invest 100% of your wisdom and wishing into something that may possibly turn out to be nothing.

Now we're in the third week of our second crazy ride and we don't really have a lot of answers at the moment. There are a lot of details that I wish I could share but ultimately this story is not yet ours to tell. It belongs to a sweet 18 year old girl in New Jersey who is currently busy being an absolutely super hero and choosing love and life for her baby. It sucks being where we are right now with no knowledge of the direction our lives might take with our next child but I cannot even begin to fathom what it must be like to feel a tiny person kicking inside of you and know that you will never get the chance to hear that baby call you "mama".

There have been times in the past few weeks when I've just looked up at God and told him that I want OFF this ridiculous ride! It's too hard and it's too much and I just want to be in charge of caring for my next baby in my belly and having a due date and being able to paint a nursery exactly one month before it comes and knowing that it will look just like Joe and I. But that's not the path God called us to. He never promised easy. He never promised convenient. He has promised hardship and glory...HIS glory, not mine. "He who calls you is faithful, and he will bring it to pass" (1 Thess. 5:24). I have GOT to keep reminding myself that we've been called to this purpose and now it's just up to Him. But in the meantime, I'm a total basket case.

So if you think of it, could the three of you who are out there reading this please pray for Joe and I as we tread these unknown waters? I understand that we signed up for this, but now we're finding out just WHAT exactly we signed up for and it's pretty rough. And now if you'll excuse me, I will go be still and know that He is God....and then 5 minutes later I'll calm myself down and resolve to do the same thing...and then 5 minutes after that...

Pandora's Box

Yesterday I took an unintentional trip down memory lane. Actually I think it was a trip down something less lovely than a lane...maybe a trip down a dirt road with ruts and rocks and I rolled my ankle a few times as I went along.

I was down in our basement looking around for some things when I stood there looking at one corner of the room piled high with packed boxes. A few years ago my dad found himself in a place where he had lost his job and could no longer afford the mortgage on his house. He didn't know where he'd be going but he knew that he'd soon have to leave the house because the bank was going to take it. Our plan was for him to pack a few things that he absolutely couldn't do without, and then to hold an estate sale, selling off all the rest of the things in the house which would hopefully provide him with enough cash for a few months rent on an apartment yet to be determined. That estate sale was absolutely miserable. Our add in the paper just gave dates and times and said "Everything must go. Make me an offer." (we didn't have time to price tag everything.) We got to his house the first morning and there was a line of people standing at the front door and almost all the way down the driveway. I was terrified and pretty much in a constant state of anxiousness. When we opened the doors, there were people everywhere and we were so overwhelmed and I just wanted to hide in a corner and cry. I felt like we shouldn't be there and this shouldn't be happening. I remember one old, creepy guy holding up a green, one-foot corner shelf thing and asking me how much I wanted for it. I said "I don't know, ten bucks?". And he laughed and then yelled at me like I was nuts, like how in my right mind could I possibly expect him to pay ten dollars for such a piece of junk. That was seriously one of the top five most embarrassing moments of my life (and I do a LOT of embarrassing things) because I just broke down and cried right in the guy's face. It was pathetic.

Ok, so the point is that before the sale from hell, my dad packed SO. MUCH. STUFF. He's a total pack-rat and just didn't want to let go of anything. He packed an entire box of travel coffee mugs and those reusable Big Gulps cups that come with ribbed straws. And an entire box of baseball caps...many of which had 3-foot brims with profanity printed all over them. Never know when you'll need 25 of those babies. At the time, Joe and I had newly moved into our house and we had a whole basement with nothing in it, so we offered to let my dad use our space to store his boxes and some furniture until he found an apartment.

Well yesterday, here I was four years later, looking at all of those boxes full of the things he couldn't live without. They were still completely taped up and I had no idea what was in them because I honestly just never had the energy to open them and look through things that made me relive too many memories, which were just that...memories of a life I once lived and a parent I once had, and which now seemed a million miles and a thousand years away with no binds at all to my current existence. But I tend to be an under-analyzer and sometimes I choose to just do things without thinking too much about them or else I may never do them at all so I started in on opening the boxes. There were lots of Christmas decorations that made me smile and I could picture the exact place in our house where my mom would place them every year. There were a few sets of ugly dishes and some pillows and some blankets. Then there were of course, the big gulps mugs and the baseball caps. A whole box of shoes (most of which were purchased prior to the Ice Storm), and then one box that turned my memory lane into a confusing and difficult to navigate dirt road.

My dad was a city Fire Fighter. And man, when you're a kid, that is just the freekin COOLEST thing anybody's parent can do. And mine did it as his ACTUAL JOB. Playing that card always got me instant respect and street cred as a kid. Sometimes he used to drive a fire truck to our neighborhood and park in right in the middle of the cul-de-sac we lived on so that us and all our friends could play on it (which is totally illegal by the way and I apologize to all city of Rochester residents for this gross misuse of your tax dollars but again, I was 8 and it was awesome). We'd climb the ladder and put on the helmets and honk the horn. In school, my classes often took field trips to my dad's firehouse and by the time I was five I could not only slide down a fire pole fearlessly, but I could climb all the way up one as well and I'd show off my skills. I felt like the absolute center of the universe during those times. I mean, I absolutely beamed with pride. Nobody's dad was a cool or brave or exciting as mine. He might as well have been Superman himself. Up until around the time of the estate sale, I had been a fireman's daughter, it was a giant piece of my identity and I was SO proud of it.

So when I opened the box of all my dad's firefighting paraphernalia, completely covered in dust, it was like a shot to the chest. There were a few dye cast models of fire trucks, and a small porcelain statue of a guy sliding down a fire pole with his pants falling down (typical). There was a big, red, metal box that you would find on the wall of a school or business that has that lever you can pull to sound the fire alarm...that used to be on the wall in our house with a telephone inside of it. I pulled out a few other things and then at the bottom of the box I saw a black helmet with a badge on the front that read "LIEUT 1". Anybody in my extended family would know exactly what that is at first glance. It's my grandfather's fire helmet, which he wore in the city of Rochester in the 40's, 50's, and 60's. I pulled it out and blew some dust off of it and underneath it sad my dad's helmet, a little newer, a little more modern (they added face masks for the next generation) but a little more worn. I couldn't bring myself to pick that one up. But I couldn't believe that I found my grandfather's helmet and that it had been down there all taped up in a box for almost 5 years. I brought it upstairs and washed it off and put it on a shelf in our kids' playroom that holds a lot of family photos from a few generations.

I come from a long line of firefighters. And it's always been something I'm so proud of. But ever since my son was born (who my father has never met, by the way) I cringe every time I see a t-shirt that would fit him with a fire truck on it. It's like I don't want that to touch him because it's no longer something I can call mine. I don't know if that makes any sense. I can't bring myself to reconcile this amazing heritage I have with this current lack of pride I feel in my family situation.

So my son doesn't wear anything that glorifies the heroism of firefighters and my dad's helmet sits dusty in a box in my basement. Maybe it's because my hero let me down. Maybe it's because of the constant twinge of sadness I have in the back of my brain because my son has never met his grandfather. Or maybe it's because 5 years of prayers still haven't brought my dad to a place where he realizes what he's given up and what he's missing. I don't know but either way this is where I am.

And as I type this, I can hear my son giggling upstairs because my husband is pulling some silly antic just to make him laugh. And I can feel my Jesus holding my heart when it hurts. And these are the times when I know that heroes still exist.