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.