Eighteen years old and at my mother's funeral, I refused to go into the sanctuary until they had closed the casket. After watching my vibrant mother self-destruct to drugs, alcohol and depression, I had watcher her morph into another person and couldn't imagine seeing her dead body dressed up inside a box. I had to concentrate to muster up tears that day. I couldn't cry. Everyone came up to me tearful and full of sorrow, saying how sorry they were for me. Yet, I remained stoic and numb. Tears that ordinarily come easily for me did not come that day.
I had already mourned my mother's death in the two years prior to her passing. Watching her change and succumb to addictions and several asshole men was a devastating thing to watch as a teenager. I knew she was dying a little bit more with every passing day. All of my tears had already been cried, so the day she died I almost felt relieved. Some of my pain would stop because now my mother was dead and gone, not just avoiding me and cutting me out of her life because it was too hard to see me.
My marriage was like that.
The day I went down to the courthouse and filed for divorce, I pressed inward to search my feelings but I couldn't find sadness. There was peace and then guilt for feeling peace.
According to some of my family and most of my friends, I should definitely not be feeling peace when I am stepping out of God's will and ending the covenant I made to my husband before God. I was afraid to ask Him why I felt that way. Had it come from Him or had He left me now that I had committed what some believe to be an unforgivable sin? Does God allow us to feel His peace when we've committed the magnanimous sin of divorce? I was scared to hear those answers.
Thirty-seven years old, no tears fell on the day I went to finalize the divorce. Seeing the words "decree of divorce" with our names written in black and white brought more peace. I breathed deeply and that familiar feeling of relief set in as I knew some of my pain would stop because our marriage was officially and legally over. All that I had been holding and living with was no longer a burden I had to bear. It felt good to let it go.
Now I hold the tension of relief and sorrow. My ambivalent feelings of abundant happiness and dark sorrow have been difficult to navigate through. Daily, I feel the weight of the pain and hurt I have caused my ex-husband, the boys and our family and friends. Those are the places I easily find my tears again. I've held both of my boys in my arms weeping with them saying I'm sorry, over and over again; giving them permission to feel whatever it is they do, even if it's anger or hurt towards me. I imagine that is something I will always carry as this was a decision that I did not come to quickly or easily. And it was costly - just as costly as I imagined it would be.
Maybe we're all given a certain amount of tears meant to be cried over one thing or one person. Or maybe the lack of them, or the running out of tears means our grief has moved into the phase of acceptance and something inside us moves forward with surprising ease. Because during the really, really hard times, we felt our feelings and cried our tears and screamed our screams. We didn't stuff or suppress them or numb them away with too much pizza or tumblers full of vodka. We gave those feelings words and paintings, tattoos and photographs because we learned to turn pain into beauty.
Remaining present in the sad, gray moments and feeling my longings collide with reality was a daily fight for me, especially in my marriage. But I fought, and I felt it and I know in the depth of my heart that I gave my all, my whole heart and whole effort to my marriage.
The shift came and the hard decision I wrestled with for so long was made, my soul was finally at rest. And regardless of what anyone else thinks or believes or assumes - there is peace.
Showing posts with label Longings for more. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Longings for more. Show all posts
August 13, 2018
July 26, 2018
December twenty-third
Two days before Christmas and twelve years to the day he had asked me to marry him, I sat across a table from my husband with my future aching thick in my throat. It was time to give words to the tension that had been palpable between us for months, maybe years. I didn't believe that it was a mere coincidence that this was the day I was also going to ask him for a divorce. It was a tragic full circle moment and I felt acutely aware of our beginning and ending. I was trying to make it through the holidays before saying a word like DIVORCE. After all, Christmastime isn't the time for marriages to end right? The illusion of what wasn't there between us anymore felt like death to my soul and I couldn't go on any longer without speaking my truth.
The words came easily and without tears. I reached deep for them because I felt guilty that I didn't have any to cry. I had given him thousands of them over the years, most of which fell to the ground lonely and lost. He cried more than I expected him to. He wailed and sobbed and I had only ever heard him cry like that one other time when we had to give our dog away a few years back. I wasn't sure what to do or say. Sorry didn't feel appropriate and I knew I couldn't fix whatever he was feeling. He could tell I was firm and settled in my decision; that I was already gone and had been for a while. He walked away from the table that night visibly rejected and wounded. My emotions were all running one in to the other - relief and hope. Deep sorrow and heartache, especially for all I knew I would cause.
We went separate ways that night. My phone started blowing up with text messages and phone calls from concerned friends he had already spoken to, shocked by the news. It wasn't the time to talk or answer questions. Desperate to feel something else that night, I put the conversation and my marriage on an emotional shelf to be looked at later.
I walked into a bar without my diamonds sparkling on my left ring finger. I drank until I was warm and head fuzzy, and until someone elses's lips had touched my own. And it was sad.
The words came easily and without tears. I reached deep for them because I felt guilty that I didn't have any to cry. I had given him thousands of them over the years, most of which fell to the ground lonely and lost. He cried more than I expected him to. He wailed and sobbed and I had only ever heard him cry like that one other time when we had to give our dog away a few years back. I wasn't sure what to do or say. Sorry didn't feel appropriate and I knew I couldn't fix whatever he was feeling. He could tell I was firm and settled in my decision; that I was already gone and had been for a while. He walked away from the table that night visibly rejected and wounded. My emotions were all running one in to the other - relief and hope. Deep sorrow and heartache, especially for all I knew I would cause.
We went separate ways that night. My phone started blowing up with text messages and phone calls from concerned friends he had already spoken to, shocked by the news. It wasn't the time to talk or answer questions. Desperate to feel something else that night, I put the conversation and my marriage on an emotional shelf to be looked at later.
I walked into a bar without my diamonds sparkling on my left ring finger. I drank until I was warm and head fuzzy, and until someone elses's lips had touched my own. And it was sad.
December 25, 2017
Songs of Christmas
It's Christmas morning and I was awake before dawn. I made a cup of coffee and turned on the twinkle lights on our Christmas tree and sat with a blanket. I welcomed the solitude and quiet, feeling the rest and peace that had settled in my soul even though it was accompanied by grief and sorrow. My heart is heavy and sad this Christmas. I didn't bake my cookies or dip my pretzles and we didn't drive to see the lights in Windcrest. There was no downtown date night on the Riverwalk and I wasn't at church yesterday to hold a candle and sing O Come All ye Faithful.
I wanted to remember the feelings and songs that echoed the tender and sorrowful places in my heart. I wanted to come back and read here that on Christmas of 2017, the Christmas that would be ushering in the endings of old things and beginnings of new ones, that my heart sounded like these songs.
To those of you who come read here, I hope you have the Merriest Christmas. Hold your dear ones close today and wherever this day finds you, I hope you feel wrapped in the hope and love that this season brings.
With Love,
Jenn
Something about December - Christina Perri
White Christmas - Kenny G
Christmas Lights - Coldplay
Jingle Bells in minor
O Come, O Come Emmanuel - Steven Curtis Chapman
Welcome Christmas - Glee Cast (from: How the Grinch Stole Christmas)
Heirlooms - Amy Grant
Grown up Christmas List - Kelly Clarkson
A Christmas Alleluia - Chris Tomlin
All is Well - Michael W. Smith & Carrie Underwood
Wintersong - Sarah McLachlan
Love is Christmas - Sara Bareilles
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas - Sam Smith
I wanted to remember the feelings and songs that echoed the tender and sorrowful places in my heart. I wanted to come back and read here that on Christmas of 2017, the Christmas that would be ushering in the endings of old things and beginnings of new ones, that my heart sounded like these songs.
To those of you who come read here, I hope you have the Merriest Christmas. Hold your dear ones close today and wherever this day finds you, I hope you feel wrapped in the hope and love that this season brings.
With Love,
Jenn
Something about December - Christina Perri
White Christmas - Kenny G
Christmas Lights - Coldplay
Jingle Bells in minor
O Come, O Come Emmanuel - Steven Curtis Chapman
Welcome Christmas - Glee Cast (from: How the Grinch Stole Christmas)
Heirlooms - Amy Grant
Grown up Christmas List - Kelly Clarkson
A Christmas Alleluia - Chris Tomlin
All is Well - Michael W. Smith & Carrie Underwood
Wintersong - Sarah McLachlan
Love is Christmas - Sara Bareilles
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas - Sam Smith
November 11, 2017
A Hallowed Heart
It was raining without clouds. It seemed fitting somehow to drive through blue skies on the way to the cemetery, rain still managing to find us. Gray road stretched out before me, I kept wondering how tragedies and heartaches that happened over a lifetime ago could feel this new. I have lived with loss and know the darkness of death, but grief still takes me by surprise.
My boys were in the back seat in ties and black Sunday shoes. This was their first time time to go to a cemetery and they wanted to dress nice. When my Uncle died two years ago, they went to the funeral, but the family chose to wait until now to bury his ashes. He was going to be laid to rest next to my mom and brother. My feelings were so overwhelming I could feel them aching in my throat and surging through my legs that made me want to run. It felt like something was trying to come out of my body and I quickly recognized the trauma tied to those physical sensations. I closed my eyes and took breath after breath, long and deep, until I felt my core settle inside of me.
We arrived at the place. Sacred earth housing the bones of loved ones and memories never made, I got out of the truck, holding my son's hand in my own. Feelings began to swirl inside of me. My brother's ten year life, how betrayal and alcohol destroyed my mother, stealing her spark and light and heartbeat. I was feeling forgotten and missed, much like my mother's headstone in that sticker burred country cemetery. I showed my boys where they were buried. I could feel bellowing sobs forming in my gut as I saw Tommy touch my brother's grave, his eight year old fingers tracing the letters "The Greatest Blessing," that was etched into gray granite. I put my hand on my mother's stone. "Child of God, Beloved Mother of AJ," it read. I didn't remember that was what it said and the words sat heavy with me. She was my mother too, yet those words felt true. She was more his mother than mine and the ambivalence I feel about her was as tangible as the crunchy dead grass beneath my feet.
We laughed and cried and prayed together as my Uncle's ashes were put into the ground. I think we all felt the finality of something, ever aware of a unique hole his absence has created inside of each one of us. His wasn't the only hole inside of me. I thought about AJ and my mom, Aaron - my first love, the death of dreams and the unmet longings I carry on the outside and inside of me. It looks like a double-chin and a large belly, and feels like a watercolor mess of tragedy and indescribable joy, splattered and swirled together with darkness and light.
My face was wet with tears as we walked back through the cemetery, the living among the dead. You can't walk on hallowed ground and not feel the gravity of death and how it has changed you. My heart like a headstone, chiseled and marked with all of the pain, all the joy and the broken, beautiful pieces of my story that make up who I am.
The clouds were gray and pregnant with rain. Eyes and sky both crying as my husband reached for my hand.
My boys were in the back seat in ties and black Sunday shoes. This was their first time time to go to a cemetery and they wanted to dress nice. When my Uncle died two years ago, they went to the funeral, but the family chose to wait until now to bury his ashes. He was going to be laid to rest next to my mom and brother. My feelings were so overwhelming I could feel them aching in my throat and surging through my legs that made me want to run. It felt like something was trying to come out of my body and I quickly recognized the trauma tied to those physical sensations. I closed my eyes and took breath after breath, long and deep, until I felt my core settle inside of me.
We arrived at the place. Sacred earth housing the bones of loved ones and memories never made, I got out of the truck, holding my son's hand in my own. Feelings began to swirl inside of me. My brother's ten year life, how betrayal and alcohol destroyed my mother, stealing her spark and light and heartbeat. I was feeling forgotten and missed, much like my mother's headstone in that sticker burred country cemetery. I showed my boys where they were buried. I could feel bellowing sobs forming in my gut as I saw Tommy touch my brother's grave, his eight year old fingers tracing the letters "The Greatest Blessing," that was etched into gray granite. I put my hand on my mother's stone. "Child of God, Beloved Mother of AJ," it read. I didn't remember that was what it said and the words sat heavy with me. She was my mother too, yet those words felt true. She was more his mother than mine and the ambivalence I feel about her was as tangible as the crunchy dead grass beneath my feet.
We laughed and cried and prayed together as my Uncle's ashes were put into the ground. I think we all felt the finality of something, ever aware of a unique hole his absence has created inside of each one of us. His wasn't the only hole inside of me. I thought about AJ and my mom, Aaron - my first love, the death of dreams and the unmet longings I carry on the outside and inside of me. It looks like a double-chin and a large belly, and feels like a watercolor mess of tragedy and indescribable joy, splattered and swirled together with darkness and light.
My face was wet with tears as we walked back through the cemetery, the living among the dead. You can't walk on hallowed ground and not feel the gravity of death and how it has changed you. My heart like a headstone, chiseled and marked with all of the pain, all the joy and the broken, beautiful pieces of my story that make up who I am.
The clouds were gray and pregnant with rain. Eyes and sky both crying as my husband reached for my hand.
December 31, 2016
2016: Year End Review, Survey Style
I suppose 2016 will go down as the year in history that
kicked all of our asses. Didn't it though? It just wouldn't
stop. I have yet to meet a person that was like, "Yea! 2016
was my jam! It did me good!" I wanted to write something
poetic and full of deep reflection, but you know what? I really just want
to tell 2016 to f'*&% off and be done with it. Based on my use of
profanity as of late, 2016 has made me into something of a potty mouth.
Regardless, I thought it would be fun though to take a look back at 2016 survey
style as I close down ye old blog for the year. After searching the
interwebs about questions to encourage year-end reflections, I found several,
some serious and some light-hearted, of things I most definitely want to
remember about 2016, and some I also might want to forget.
What am I most proud of this year?
My health and fitness. Though I still have a ways
to go, I have started and maintained new habits in regards to my eating and
exercising that I have never kept up for as long as I've had. It feels SO
good to head into a new year with good habits already in motion so I have a
place to keep building on rather than feeling like I have to start from
scratch. My weight loss and fitness goals feel attainable this year and
I'm excited to keep pressing on.
Where am I feeling stuck?
My job/career/work. I am good at my job as a
bookkeeper, and it has proved to be a good income for my family. But I
also deeply long to have a job that needs some of my creative talents
too. This is a place I want to be open to taking some risks and thinking
outside the box.
Where do I need to allow myself grace?
As a mother. I am so hard on myself for all that I
get wrong or mess up. I worry about not being all that my boys need me to
be and I feel like I'm failing them.
How did I spend my free time?
Netflix. Way too much Netflix. There might be
a New Year's resolution in there somewhere.
When have I felt the most alive?
At the beach.
When I'm running (to be interpreted as a very slow jog).
During worship.
What is the hardest decision I made this year?
Leaving our church. It was and remains to be the
most gut-wrenching decision we've been faced with in the last several
years. Severed relationships and devastating wounds. It has SUCKED.
What do I need to let go of?
Trying to fit in places where I don't belong.
What old habits would I like to release?
Biting my nails. Comparing myself to other
people.
What new habits would I like to cultivate?
Family devotions on a daily basis where we have a time
focused on our faith and prayer.
Creating more time for reading and writing.
What were some of my favorite memories this year?
Getting to be a part of the IF:Gathering even though I was
still sick.
My first date night with Todd when I was well
again.
Family karaoke day.
Being at the beach with Todd.
Poppy blowing out exploding candles on his birthday cake.
Christmas cookie decorating with my family.
What was the single most challenging thing that happened?
My illness, surgery and recovery.
What was an unexpected joy this past year?
After being sick for so long and becoming well again, I have
a new appreciation for the things that I am able to do like cooking, cleaning, and
exercise. Just being able to take care of my family and care for my home
after not being able to for so long, has brought me so much joy.
What was an unexpected obstacle?
A struggle with pain medications and alcohol that I never
saw coming. Very grateful for help and healing in this place the last couple
of months.
Pick three words to describe this past year
Expensive. HARD. Rewarding.
Who were your most valuable relationships with?
Todd, my boys, Sarah, Shelly.
What was your single biggest time waster in your life this past year?
Facebook, Pinterest and Netflix. And being on my phone.
*sigh*
What was the best way you used your time this past year?
Playing with my boys, exercising, and having sex with my
husband.
What new things did you discover about yourself?
That I can be disciplined, I can do and get through hard
things, that I have an inner-athlete that's been trying to get out. And
that I'm not a republican.
What was the best news you received this year?
"Yes, you can eat now." (After months of living
on a liquid diet).
What, or who, are you most thankful for?
My husband and boys, a handful of faithful and precious
friends, God's unending grace, improved health, and having all I need and then
some.
What was the best movie you saw this year?
Captain America: Civil War. I'm a superhero-loving
geek at heart.
What was your favorite compliment that you received this year?
That I seem so joyful and at peace. And knowing
that it was really true.
What little things did you most enjoy during your day-to-day life?
Morning coffee, sitting around the dinner table with my
little family, singing to Jacob before bedtime, building Legos with Tommy, Todd
kissing my neck when I'm cooking in the kitchen.
Was there anything you did for the very first time in your life this year?
Other than undergo surgery? No. But, I do
have a short bucket list of some things I would like to do and try next year.
And skydiving is totally on that list....
What was your favorite moment spent with your friends?
Riding on giant stuffed animals in the mall with Tiffany
and Canadia.
How did your overall outlook on life evolve?
I think I could write an entire blog post just on this
question. I think my overall outlook on life changed and evolved in so
many different places. After my illness and recovery, I felt a deeper
sense of gratitude to simply go about my every day life. So many of us
take our health and wellness for granted and that isn't something I want to
lose sight of again. After a tumultuous year politically and seeing so many
tragic events occur in our nation and the world, I have been faced with
overwhelming convictions of my role to bring peace and love and charity into
the lives of others who are hurting. I am beginning to change my passive
stance to a more active one.
What advice would you give your early 2016 self if you could?
"It's gonna be a hell of a ride girl, hang on
tight!"
What do you want the overarching theme for your 2017 to be?
Reach, strive and don't quit.
Always be humble and kind.
Be joy and peace and bring it to others.
What do you want your everyday life to be like?
Continue with healthy eating and exercise habits.
Lose my shit less with my boys.
Less Netflix and wasting time on my phone.
Being more present, even if it hurts to be.
What are your hopes, dreams and goals for 2017?
Finish a half marathon, take a creative writing course,
pay off some debt and save more money, throw myself a big birthday party, go
skydiving, buy a sexy red dress, be more involved with my children in giving back
to our community and those in need.
It really was a doozy of a year for me personally, but it was also a year of extreme growth and humility as a person, and for that, I am grateful. Looking forward to a new year with fresh eyes, an encouraged heart and deeper resolve. May 2017 be filled with an abundance of blessings and unending grace to get us through the hard times.
Happy New Year!
(Oh, and f*%& off 2016!!)
November 30, 2016
Let every heart prepare Him room
They wait and look up expectantly the first time the tree is decorated, all glowing and shining, it's base barren and waiting for the promise of the good gifts to come. They are the picture of anticipation and waiting. Christmas is coming! Christmas is coming!
There will be festive lights, family traditions, special cookies, and colorfully wrapped packages. Yes, Christmas is coming. But, what does that mean? And more importantly, what does it mean to me?
I have long enjoyed this season. Decorating, baking, gift-giving, party-throwing - it's practically all of my favorite things rolled in to one month. Yet, almost every season, I feel drained and spent. The season comes and goes and there is always this nagging feeling in my heart that I've missed something. I've come to realize that it's Him that I'm missing - Jesus, the very reason for the season I love so much.
This Christmas, my side of the family has some very special things planned: A giant family sleepover. A White Elephant gift exchange that will be a first for us to do. And another round of family karaoke that is sure to be epic considering we will have ALL of the family there this time. There is the promise of so much laughter, joy and beautiful glory-filled tears that I can feel myself ramping up with emotion, hope and excitement as we plan and prepare for our time together.
Several nights ago, I couldn't sleep. I woke up in the middle of the night, got out of bed and began to read and journal. I did some research on advent - some of the history and traditions that surround it and as I did, I began to hear that still, small voice. The One that has invited me to know Him and go deeper with Him again and again. The One who always calls me to more.
I started to be curious about how I could observe this advent season differently than I have in years past. To start, I decided to approach it with some fasting and prayer, and to purpose a quieter and less scheduled holiday season. One that left room for giving and serving others, for being more present with my family in ways that didn't include big things or expensive family outings and one that included plenty of real rest for my soul. I have a book to read and I plan to write of course.
My prayer tonight, this night before the first of December, is for a heart that has prepared room for Jesus. I want my schedule, my body, my heart and my home to be prepared for what's to come. And not just for our big family Christmas. But to really meet Christ this Christmas in a way that I haven't before.
Oh, how I want my heart tonight to mimic that of my boys by the tree. Waiting expectantly for Jesus, the greatest gift that came, the greatest gift that still comes, and the greatest gift still to come.
I have long enjoyed this season. Decorating, baking, gift-giving, party-throwing - it's practically all of my favorite things rolled in to one month. Yet, almost every season, I feel drained and spent. The season comes and goes and there is always this nagging feeling in my heart that I've missed something. I've come to realize that it's Him that I'm missing - Jesus, the very reason for the season I love so much.
This Christmas, my side of the family has some very special things planned: A giant family sleepover. A White Elephant gift exchange that will be a first for us to do. And another round of family karaoke that is sure to be epic considering we will have ALL of the family there this time. There is the promise of so much laughter, joy and beautiful glory-filled tears that I can feel myself ramping up with emotion, hope and excitement as we plan and prepare for our time together.
Several nights ago, I couldn't sleep. I woke up in the middle of the night, got out of bed and began to read and journal. I did some research on advent - some of the history and traditions that surround it and as I did, I began to hear that still, small voice. The One that has invited me to know Him and go deeper with Him again and again. The One who always calls me to more.
I started to be curious about how I could observe this advent season differently than I have in years past. To start, I decided to approach it with some fasting and prayer, and to purpose a quieter and less scheduled holiday season. One that left room for giving and serving others, for being more present with my family in ways that didn't include big things or expensive family outings and one that included plenty of real rest for my soul. I have a book to read and I plan to write of course.
My prayer tonight, this night before the first of December, is for a heart that has prepared room for Jesus. I want my schedule, my body, my heart and my home to be prepared for what's to come. And not just for our big family Christmas. But to really meet Christ this Christmas in a way that I haven't before.
Oh, how I want my heart tonight to mimic that of my boys by the tree. Waiting expectantly for Jesus, the greatest gift that came, the greatest gift that still comes, and the greatest gift still to come.
Christmas is coming. What does that mean to you?
November 12, 2016
Stuck
I like definitive beginnings and endings. Clean slates. New calendar years. Crisp, empty planners waiting for entries. A grandiose finale at the end of a musical piece like Nessun Dorma or the Hallelujah Chorus. I want my loose ends tied up, my mental and emotional shelves neatly organized, and clarity on where I stand in every relationship.
But it's the in-between, messy, unfinished tension where I reside and live most of my life.
October and now November have been unseasonably warm, even for us. We are still in shorts and flip-flops and our air conditioners are humming away. It seems we are stuck in some awful in-between season where it's not really summer, but it's not anything else but humid, sticky, warm and miserable. There are no beautiful autumn colors to wonder at, no crisp fresh air that breathes new life into a new season. It's a weather purgatory and it's reminding me of all of the other places in my life where I feel stuck in a season of life that doesn't seem to end. I find myself craving some sense of finality on things ending and some new thing to begin, but I feel as if I've been composed into a melody that seems to be playing in a minor key and the dissonance is getting to me.
My body is healthier and stronger than it's ever been, but still so far to go at the same time. I eat so differently and exercise five times a week, and I even own "skinny" jeans. Trying to find kindness in my maintenance of what I've lost, the progress I've made is easier on some days than others. Even with the 85 pounds of weight that's no longer on my body, I struggle with who I see in the mirror and I don't often speak kind things to her.
Motherhood. My threenager takes all that I have and I keep wondering if anything with Jacob will ease up. I'm tired and weary and I just want a break from the screaming and fit-throwing. Even as I write this, there is screaming and I want to lose my mind. I'm ready for him to be four. Or 18. I can't decide.
Oh, how I miss our church so, so much. I miss what it was two years ago when our community was rich and deep, our lives so full of ministry, fellowship and this wonderful feeling of really belonging - when we had a group we called as "framily." I think of the people I've hurt and walked away from, and those who did the same to us, and I am filled with sorrow. Most every Sunday at the new church we've been attending, I stand there during worship and cry. It makes me wonder if I'll ever be able to stand on stage and lead worship for a church again. I don't know if I can even trust church people, if I'll ever let myself be vulnerable enough to dig into it again. I want to safeguard my heart and yet I miss deep connection with those who share my faith. I'm stuck in a place of needing to forgive those who hurt me, and to ask others for forgiveness too.
I'm trying to survive my long, lonely days in a season where I am figuring out where I am supposed to be or who I'm supposed to be because nothing fits anymore - literally. Church. My clothes. Politics. Friendships. Nothing fits like it used to and I've become acutely aware how much this year has changed me inside and out.
As I sit in the reality that I'm in the last several weeks of the year and the holidays are approaching, I am feeling myself ready to wind up the year and welcome in that familiar clean slate. I want to wish 2016 good riddance! As if January 1st will change my body and Jacob's challenging behavior or the new year will suddenly usher in new and perfect friendships and take away all the emotional aches I bear.
Maybe the fresh start of a new year is only an illusion. If anything it gives us a starting point to measure our successes and failures, but it's really just another day of wrestling through life and struggling through the darkness inside of us.
Perhaps there are no clear definitive beginnings or endings when it comes to our lives. Just breathing and going and doing and seasons folding in and on top of each other.
But it's the in-between, messy, unfinished tension where I reside and live most of my life.
October and now November have been unseasonably warm, even for us. We are still in shorts and flip-flops and our air conditioners are humming away. It seems we are stuck in some awful in-between season where it's not really summer, but it's not anything else but humid, sticky, warm and miserable. There are no beautiful autumn colors to wonder at, no crisp fresh air that breathes new life into a new season. It's a weather purgatory and it's reminding me of all of the other places in my life where I feel stuck in a season of life that doesn't seem to end. I find myself craving some sense of finality on things ending and some new thing to begin, but I feel as if I've been composed into a melody that seems to be playing in a minor key and the dissonance is getting to me.
My body is healthier and stronger than it's ever been, but still so far to go at the same time. I eat so differently and exercise five times a week, and I even own "skinny" jeans. Trying to find kindness in my maintenance of what I've lost, the progress I've made is easier on some days than others. Even with the 85 pounds of weight that's no longer on my body, I struggle with who I see in the mirror and I don't often speak kind things to her.
Motherhood. My threenager takes all that I have and I keep wondering if anything with Jacob will ease up. I'm tired and weary and I just want a break from the screaming and fit-throwing. Even as I write this, there is screaming and I want to lose my mind. I'm ready for him to be four. Or 18. I can't decide.
Oh, how I miss our church so, so much. I miss what it was two years ago when our community was rich and deep, our lives so full of ministry, fellowship and this wonderful feeling of really belonging - when we had a group we called as "framily." I think of the people I've hurt and walked away from, and those who did the same to us, and I am filled with sorrow. Most every Sunday at the new church we've been attending, I stand there during worship and cry. It makes me wonder if I'll ever be able to stand on stage and lead worship for a church again. I don't know if I can even trust church people, if I'll ever let myself be vulnerable enough to dig into it again. I want to safeguard my heart and yet I miss deep connection with those who share my faith. I'm stuck in a place of needing to forgive those who hurt me, and to ask others for forgiveness too.
I'm trying to survive my long, lonely days in a season where I am figuring out where I am supposed to be or who I'm supposed to be because nothing fits anymore - literally. Church. My clothes. Politics. Friendships. Nothing fits like it used to and I've become acutely aware how much this year has changed me inside and out.
As I sit in the reality that I'm in the last several weeks of the year and the holidays are approaching, I am feeling myself ready to wind up the year and welcome in that familiar clean slate. I want to wish 2016 good riddance! As if January 1st will change my body and Jacob's challenging behavior or the new year will suddenly usher in new and perfect friendships and take away all the emotional aches I bear.
Maybe the fresh start of a new year is only an illusion. If anything it gives us a starting point to measure our successes and failures, but it's really just another day of wrestling through life and struggling through the darkness inside of us.
Perhaps there are no clear definitive beginnings or endings when it comes to our lives. Just breathing and going and doing and seasons folding in and on top of each other.
October 21, 2016
Girl Friday
The thing about loneliness is that it's so lonely. It's especially lonely when you're a married working mother and you think that having a family and keeping a semi-full schedule means that loneliness should never find you. I think regardless of how many friends we have or how many children need something from us or how loving our husbands are, loneliness comes with the territory of being a woman that is full of unspeakable longings.
For the last several months, I have to come to absolutely dread Fridays. Life right now means that Todd either works late and then drives for Uber every Friday. Or he takes a nap after Friday evening dinner and then heads out to Uber until I'm already in bed. Saturdays look similar as we need the extra income right now. All of this had added to my loneliness as my weekends are wrapped up in being alone with my boys with nothing else to do or look forward to or be with.
I've discovered that between work and mothering, I get depleted of all delightfulness. I'm a wrung out sponge with nothing to soak in. And don't get me wrong - I love, love being a mother. I love my boys so much it hurts. And I'm also tired and discouraged and weary.
Last weekend, my youngest was slamming his door open and closed over and over again because he did not like the consequences I set in place after he acted out repeatedly. At one point he was in his room screaming that he hated me and I burst into tears because he is three. He ended up being put to bed earlier than usual and I cried as I sang him his lullabies because mothering him has felt so hard lately and I feel like I'm failing at it and failing him and I don't know what to do about his anger anymore.
Motherhood feels disappointing right now and I don't like the mother that Jacob's anger invites me to be. I have a passionate, emotional, strong-willed child and he takes all that I have. I'm ashamed that my oldest has to see these parts of me. I am aware of all that I try to shield him from seeing or knowing - wanting to spare him from the death and the wounds that I have known from my own mother and trying to be everything for him all of the time.
My Friday self feels sad and broken. She feels done with life and children and everyday stresses. And she's so lonely. She blames herself for that loneliness as if it's someone's fault, and thinks of those in her past that she's hurt and excluded and left behind and believes that she deserves to feel this alone and this miserable. My Friday self usually turns to Netflix and vodka. Time to numb out, to forget and to stop feeling.
It's Friday morning. As another weekend was approaching I knew I had to do something different this day. I asked my boss yesterday if I could come in a little bit late today and he gave me the okay. Right now I have the house to myself. Hot coffee beside me, window open because it's cool and gorgeous outside. I spent some time journaling and reading and praying. And crying too. Being close to God and taking some time to soak up something my soul has been so desperately needing.
I don't know if I feel any less lonely. But a couple of hours on a quiet morning, sipping coffee and doing some writing without having to referee playtime or change someone into a Batman outfit is good for the soul. I'm reminded that I have a choice of what kind of Girl Friday I'm going to be. I get to choose if I'll numb out, if I'll rest, if I'll feel how hard and lonely and desperate it all is instead of run from it. I get a choice to find moments to take care of myself when I can.
For the last several months, I have to come to absolutely dread Fridays. Life right now means that Todd either works late and then drives for Uber every Friday. Or he takes a nap after Friday evening dinner and then heads out to Uber until I'm already in bed. Saturdays look similar as we need the extra income right now. All of this had added to my loneliness as my weekends are wrapped up in being alone with my boys with nothing else to do or look forward to or be with.
I've discovered that between work and mothering, I get depleted of all delightfulness. I'm a wrung out sponge with nothing to soak in. And don't get me wrong - I love, love being a mother. I love my boys so much it hurts. And I'm also tired and discouraged and weary.
Last weekend, my youngest was slamming his door open and closed over and over again because he did not like the consequences I set in place after he acted out repeatedly. At one point he was in his room screaming that he hated me and I burst into tears because he is three. He ended up being put to bed earlier than usual and I cried as I sang him his lullabies because mothering him has felt so hard lately and I feel like I'm failing at it and failing him and I don't know what to do about his anger anymore.
Motherhood feels disappointing right now and I don't like the mother that Jacob's anger invites me to be. I have a passionate, emotional, strong-willed child and he takes all that I have. I'm ashamed that my oldest has to see these parts of me. I am aware of all that I try to shield him from seeing or knowing - wanting to spare him from the death and the wounds that I have known from my own mother and trying to be everything for him all of the time.
My Friday self feels sad and broken. She feels done with life and children and everyday stresses. And she's so lonely. She blames herself for that loneliness as if it's someone's fault, and thinks of those in her past that she's hurt and excluded and left behind and believes that she deserves to feel this alone and this miserable. My Friday self usually turns to Netflix and vodka. Time to numb out, to forget and to stop feeling.
It's Friday morning. As another weekend was approaching I knew I had to do something different this day. I asked my boss yesterday if I could come in a little bit late today and he gave me the okay. Right now I have the house to myself. Hot coffee beside me, window open because it's cool and gorgeous outside. I spent some time journaling and reading and praying. And crying too. Being close to God and taking some time to soak up something my soul has been so desperately needing.
September 22, 2016
Letting Go
I find beauty in it throughout the year. It's rising and setting, it's shining brightly at the heat of the day, or when it peeks through after a storm to remind us it's still there. And when the sun hides behind evening clouds and it creates amber and fuchsia and periwinkle colored skies, I have been known to pull over on the side of the road just to look at it. I've chased down sunsets, awoken early to watch it rise, and I've put blankets down in my backyard in January to bathe in it's light, feeling it soak into the pieces of my soul that starve in the winter time.
And then there's the way it lights up my house. The way it comes in through my favorite living room window makes me swoon every year, especially in the fall. As soon as the first of September hits, I wait for this magical day that happens when the sun shows off in all of it's September splendor.
"The trees are about to show us how lovely it is to let things go."
This has been a year of loss for me, for our family, for our lives. Loss of health, loss of time, loss of memories made. Loss of relationships, friendships and community. Of reputation, of dignity and character. Loss of money. Of certain hopes, dreams and plans. Loss of weight that I've carried on my body for years. I have been full of deep sorrow and sadness. How life unraveled this year and spilled out into places, ended up leaving us wounded and wounding others in the process.
As another season invites me to something new, I'm aware of all that I've had to let go of this year, all that has let go of me, and all that I'm still holding on to that I need not to. I've been coping and medicating and numbing out with all of the loss, trying to grasp on to something. I'm discovering that loss is something we must feel, and the only way to do that is to empty our hands and stop reaching out for something to fill them with. If my hands are empty, than they're finally open to receive. And it's been a while since I've come before God in any measure of humility asking Him to fill them again.
Autumn's light through my window invited me to remember His goodness. To remember that it's okay to let things go. And to give my heart the rest, grace and kindness it needs in this season.
Autumn is coming, with wind and gold.
And letting go.
June 22, 2016
Short Stories
YARDWORK HARDWORK.
In all of the years we have been married, I have never helped with the yard. I'm pretty sure it's partially because I was traumatized as a child by having to pick up smelly, rotten pears in the backyard anytime my dad needed to mow. The only thing I hated more than picking up gross pears was when I had to scrub out the cat pan. Ew.
But, Todd and I had a pre-marriage agreement, that all yard work and grass mowing was in the husband department. I would make sure he always had clean underwear and dinner to eat and that occasionally I would dust things. But killing bugs, taking out the trash and anything to do with the yard was his domain.
However, with how awesome I've been feeling lately, I offered to help Todd with some front yard maintenance. We needed to weed out our shrub area and wanted to plant some new bushes to spruce things up a bit. Tommy even helped and we got to reinforce lessons about working hard without complaining and having a good attitude. I heard myself say all of the things that my dad would say to me when I had to pick up those damn pears in the backyard of my childhood house. Full circle moments.
We worked and toiled all day - taking some popsicle breaks and a nap right in the middle of our project, because it's blazing hot in June here which is probably why do what we did in a sensible month like March.
But it felt good to help. To move my body and dig and lift things and sweat along side of my husband. Not because I had to, and not really even because I wanted to. But because I could.
BETTER.
Someone called me "tiny" the other day and it felt weird. I am far from tiny. I am still overweight. But I am smaller and can officially buy clothes on the "normal sized" parts of the store.
For me, the most drastic thing hasn't been my waistline or weight loss. It's been in my health - how my body feels, how I am moving it, and what I am actually desiring to eat. I want vegetables. Pizza has lost its appeal. I eat fruit for dessert on purpose. When I have a sweet tooth, I eat a handful of semi-sweet chocolate chips and it's completely satisfying. I've been working out - walking and attempted jogging. Light weight lifting, crunches, squats and lunges - trying to both strengthen and push my body.
I've had several compliments on my appearance. Some of that feels good, and some of it doesn't. i try to filter things and let them roll off of me as any mention of my size in the past whether positive or negative has been triggering for me. I've heard things like, "Wow, I know you went through a hellish ordeal this year, but man, you look fantastic!" And I just say thank you. Because yes, I did go through a hellish ordeal and I do look a bit fantastic. But, how I look isn't even the point. It's how I feel. It's how much healthier I am now. It's about my changed perspective and how I'm finally caring for my body with better nutrition and exercise.
Yes, I look better. But I feel better. I eat better. I move better. I am better.
FACES IN A CROWD.
We sat in a new church on Sunday morning. There were chairs instead of pews and they had fun flashy lights when the music played and there were silly videos for announcements. Our boys had a great time in their classes and Tommy is already asking to attend their VBS program next month. My skeptical eye looked over their statement of faith for any potential doctrine issues that we don't agree with. Other than one set of familiar faces, we were surrounded by strangers. We were greeted as visitors and met with kindness.
But I sat there feeling sad. Wondering if this place would be or ever could be home for us. Recently, we made the decision to leave our church body that has been home to us for nearly seven years. Things happened as they always do, and we have chosen to keep our reasons private.
Nevertheless, we are finding ourselves in this new space of starting over again. We keep in touch with some of the friends that moved on and left the church before we us, and some of those friendships are long and lasting. But they have and will continue to shift and change as life does with relationships and communities. It took us over three years at our church before we really made friends. At our peak there, we did life with several families and it was glorious. We felt like we were wanted, like we belonged and had a purpose.
Now, we are new again. We feel a little lost and quite alone, hoping to meet some new friends and families to do life with again.
But for now though, we are mere faces in a crowd.
PHONE CALLS AND HOSPITAL STAYS.
"You're calling me?" Sarah said answering her phone.
"I think we should probably know by now, that if we are calling each other instead of texting, something is probably wrong or we have bad news." I said choking back tears. Remembering my call to her last December when I was sick and new something was terribly wrong.
"Uhoh. What's up?" she asked.
It's funny how accustomed we are in this day in age to text. For me, it's weird for anyone to call me unless it's my Grammy or my 74 year old boss who doesn't believe in text messages. And especially with Sarah and all of the life we have known together in the last several years, phone calls usually mean big or serious news: Engagement. Pregnancy. Cancer. Death.
We had some scary news on Father's Day. Todd's dad went to the ER having difficulty breathing. As it turned out, he had some large blood clots in his lungs and for two days straight, we really didn't know if he would even live. We were all nervous and scared and preparing ourselves for the worst. He is planning to retire this year, they are building a new house, and his daughter (my sister-in-law and one of my best friends) is getting married. It's a big year for him, for our family, and we don't want to imagie any of that without him.
Thankfully, it looks like he is on the mend and blood thinners and doctors did what they do best and were able to heal the scary things that were threatening his life. The doctors are calling him a walking miracle because a clot of that size that passed through his heart into his lungs should have been fatal.
Sarah came to sit with my boys the evening I called her so I could go up to the hospital and take dinner to my family who hadn't eaten all day. I sat with my mother-in-law and told her some silly stories about the boys while she ate her dinner so she could have a break from her tears and worries. Todd took the week off of work and has been up at the hospital as soon as I have gotten home from my job. It's only Wednesday but it feels like the longest week ever.
THE GIVING TREE.
It is my favorite childhood book. I can remember sitting on my Grammy's lap listening to her read with her warm, soothing voice. I would reach up and touch her cheeks and call her skin "fluffy." Something about the story and those quiet moments with her put me at calm and rest. Those sweet moments of story telling are some of my favorite memories of her.
Last week, she came over with the book as a gift for me, knowing the treasured memories we had together. And I asked her to read it to my boys because I wanted them to have the same memory of her - her fluffy skin, her easy voice, the kind of calm that settles over you when you hear the tale of The Giving Tree.
And for a moment I was five again.
I've had her apples and swung from her branches, and she's given me so much to build a life and home of my own. Grammy was and is and always will be, The Giving Tree.
In all of the years we have been married, I have never helped with the yard. I'm pretty sure it's partially because I was traumatized as a child by having to pick up smelly, rotten pears in the backyard anytime my dad needed to mow. The only thing I hated more than picking up gross pears was when I had to scrub out the cat pan. Ew.
But, Todd and I had a pre-marriage agreement, that all yard work and grass mowing was in the husband department. I would make sure he always had clean underwear and dinner to eat and that occasionally I would dust things. But killing bugs, taking out the trash and anything to do with the yard was his domain.
However, with how awesome I've been feeling lately, I offered to help Todd with some front yard maintenance. We needed to weed out our shrub area and wanted to plant some new bushes to spruce things up a bit. Tommy even helped and we got to reinforce lessons about working hard without complaining and having a good attitude. I heard myself say all of the things that my dad would say to me when I had to pick up those damn pears in the backyard of my childhood house. Full circle moments.
We worked and toiled all day - taking some popsicle breaks and a nap right in the middle of our project, because it's blazing hot in June here which is probably why do what we did in a sensible month like March.
But it felt good to help. To move my body and dig and lift things and sweat along side of my husband. Not because I had to, and not really even because I wanted to. But because I could.
BETTER.
Someone called me "tiny" the other day and it felt weird. I am far from tiny. I am still overweight. But I am smaller and can officially buy clothes on the "normal sized" parts of the store.
For me, the most drastic thing hasn't been my waistline or weight loss. It's been in my health - how my body feels, how I am moving it, and what I am actually desiring to eat. I want vegetables. Pizza has lost its appeal. I eat fruit for dessert on purpose. When I have a sweet tooth, I eat a handful of semi-sweet chocolate chips and it's completely satisfying. I've been working out - walking and attempted jogging. Light weight lifting, crunches, squats and lunges - trying to both strengthen and push my body.
I've had several compliments on my appearance. Some of that feels good, and some of it doesn't. i try to filter things and let them roll off of me as any mention of my size in the past whether positive or negative has been triggering for me. I've heard things like, "Wow, I know you went through a hellish ordeal this year, but man, you look fantastic!" And I just say thank you. Because yes, I did go through a hellish ordeal and I do look a bit fantastic. But, how I look isn't even the point. It's how I feel. It's how much healthier I am now. It's about my changed perspective and how I'm finally caring for my body with better nutrition and exercise.
Yes, I look better. But I feel better. I eat better. I move better. I am better.
FACES IN A CROWD.
We sat in a new church on Sunday morning. There were chairs instead of pews and they had fun flashy lights when the music played and there were silly videos for announcements. Our boys had a great time in their classes and Tommy is already asking to attend their VBS program next month. My skeptical eye looked over their statement of faith for any potential doctrine issues that we don't agree with. Other than one set of familiar faces, we were surrounded by strangers. We were greeted as visitors and met with kindness.
But I sat there feeling sad. Wondering if this place would be or ever could be home for us. Recently, we made the decision to leave our church body that has been home to us for nearly seven years. Things happened as they always do, and we have chosen to keep our reasons private.
Nevertheless, we are finding ourselves in this new space of starting over again. We keep in touch with some of the friends that moved on and left the church before we us, and some of those friendships are long and lasting. But they have and will continue to shift and change as life does with relationships and communities. It took us over three years at our church before we really made friends. At our peak there, we did life with several families and it was glorious. We felt like we were wanted, like we belonged and had a purpose.
Now, we are new again. We feel a little lost and quite alone, hoping to meet some new friends and families to do life with again.
But for now though, we are mere faces in a crowd.
PHONE CALLS AND HOSPITAL STAYS.
"You're calling me?" Sarah said answering her phone.
"I think we should probably know by now, that if we are calling each other instead of texting, something is probably wrong or we have bad news." I said choking back tears. Remembering my call to her last December when I was sick and new something was terribly wrong.
"Uhoh. What's up?" she asked.
It's funny how accustomed we are in this day in age to text. For me, it's weird for anyone to call me unless it's my Grammy or my 74 year old boss who doesn't believe in text messages. And especially with Sarah and all of the life we have known together in the last several years, phone calls usually mean big or serious news: Engagement. Pregnancy. Cancer. Death.
We had some scary news on Father's Day. Todd's dad went to the ER having difficulty breathing. As it turned out, he had some large blood clots in his lungs and for two days straight, we really didn't know if he would even live. We were all nervous and scared and preparing ourselves for the worst. He is planning to retire this year, they are building a new house, and his daughter (my sister-in-law and one of my best friends) is getting married. It's a big year for him, for our family, and we don't want to imagie any of that without him.
Thankfully, it looks like he is on the mend and blood thinners and doctors did what they do best and were able to heal the scary things that were threatening his life. The doctors are calling him a walking miracle because a clot of that size that passed through his heart into his lungs should have been fatal.
Sarah came to sit with my boys the evening I called her so I could go up to the hospital and take dinner to my family who hadn't eaten all day. I sat with my mother-in-law and told her some silly stories about the boys while she ate her dinner so she could have a break from her tears and worries. Todd took the week off of work and has been up at the hospital as soon as I have gotten home from my job. It's only Wednesday but it feels like the longest week ever.
I found myself out loud in prayer this week, pleading with God. Asking Him for another miracle, another blessing, another place for Him to please come through and make things go our way. I don't always pray out loud - I mostly journal and talk to Him through my writing things down. But, just like Sarah answered her phone and she knew I was calling because I probably had bad news, God was right there to pick up and listen.
THE GIVING TREE.
It is my favorite childhood book. I can remember sitting on my Grammy's lap listening to her read with her warm, soothing voice. I would reach up and touch her cheeks and call her skin "fluffy." Something about the story and those quiet moments with her put me at calm and rest. Those sweet moments of story telling are some of my favorite memories of her.
Last week, she came over with the book as a gift for me, knowing the treasured memories we had together. And I asked her to read it to my boys because I wanted them to have the same memory of her - her fluffy skin, her easy voice, the kind of calm that settles over you when you hear the tale of The Giving Tree.
And for a moment I was five again.
I've had her apples and swung from her branches, and she's given me so much to build a life and home of my own. Grammy was and is and always will be, The Giving Tree.
September 29, 2015
And Both
Around eight o'clock on any given night, I have Jacob in my lap, his fine blonde-haired head tucked comfortably under my chin and my arms wrapped around him. His fingers touch mine as I sing him the familiar lullabies I've sung to both boys since infancy.
Jesus loves me this I know....You are my sunshine, my only sunshine....I love my Jacob, oh yes, I do....
I rock a little as I sit with him. Our nightly bedtime routine with both of the boys is one of my favorite places to mother. Bedtime invites me to be soft. It requires me to be gentle, tender and still. And it's as if they look forward to the quieting down we all share together and lullabies are the last thing before bed. They come after baths and teeth brushing, prayers and reading a story. Jacob knows that after I sing to him, I lay him down and it's time to sleep.
A few nights ago though, I found myself holding back tears as I sang. After I had tucked him in to bed and he kissed me and hugged my neck, I went in my room and cried.
There was something about realizing Jacob's smallness that night. He is my littlest and our last baby, and he won't be little for much longer. He is two and a half, potty-trained (hallelujah), speaks in sentences and very much has his own opinions about everything. Soon, he won't fit perfectly under my chin on my lap and bedtime will look a little different like it does now with Tommy.
Perhaps it's knowing he is our last. Since we have closed the door on having any more children, there is this ache I hold inside. One of want and longing. Of wishing life had maybe gone a little bit differently and my nest would have three babies in it instead of two. If I had been able to stay at home, or if my body were different than maybe I would have the three like I had always planned on having. I'm also aware of where I am at peace too. I have peace with our decision we made to not have any more biological children because of my health and medication issues surrounding my RA. We have been dreaming about adoption too but we aren't certain on the ifs and whens of any of that. But I am looking forward to the life we get to share with our boys, the things we can do together as a family of four.
And so I find myself in this familiar place of holding two opposing emotions. The ache of wanting a third and the peace I have about not having another too. I'm okay, and I'm not. I'm at peace and I have a deep longing. I'm happy and I'm sad.
Sometimes, often really, I feel the "and both" of my choices, of life, of my story. And right now, the lullabies and nighttime snuggles, is a place where where I am holding the and both of my life. Enjoying precious moments with my children, longing for the memories and moments I don't have, and being grateful for their lives.
And that I get to end all of our days with lullabies.
Jesus loves me this I know....You are my sunshine, my only sunshine....I love my Jacob, oh yes, I do....
I rock a little as I sit with him. Our nightly bedtime routine with both of the boys is one of my favorite places to mother. Bedtime invites me to be soft. It requires me to be gentle, tender and still. And it's as if they look forward to the quieting down we all share together and lullabies are the last thing before bed. They come after baths and teeth brushing, prayers and reading a story. Jacob knows that after I sing to him, I lay him down and it's time to sleep.
A few nights ago though, I found myself holding back tears as I sang. After I had tucked him in to bed and he kissed me and hugged my neck, I went in my room and cried.
There was something about realizing Jacob's smallness that night. He is my littlest and our last baby, and he won't be little for much longer. He is two and a half, potty-trained (hallelujah), speaks in sentences and very much has his own opinions about everything. Soon, he won't fit perfectly under my chin on my lap and bedtime will look a little different like it does now with Tommy.
Perhaps it's knowing he is our last. Since we have closed the door on having any more children, there is this ache I hold inside. One of want and longing. Of wishing life had maybe gone a little bit differently and my nest would have three babies in it instead of two. If I had been able to stay at home, or if my body were different than maybe I would have the three like I had always planned on having. I'm also aware of where I am at peace too. I have peace with our decision we made to not have any more biological children because of my health and medication issues surrounding my RA. We have been dreaming about adoption too but we aren't certain on the ifs and whens of any of that. But I am looking forward to the life we get to share with our boys, the things we can do together as a family of four.
And so I find myself in this familiar place of holding two opposing emotions. The ache of wanting a third and the peace I have about not having another too. I'm okay, and I'm not. I'm at peace and I have a deep longing. I'm happy and I'm sad.
Sometimes, often really, I feel the "and both" of my choices, of life, of my story. And right now, the lullabies and nighttime snuggles, is a place where where I am holding the and both of my life. Enjoying precious moments with my children, longing for the memories and moments I don't have, and being grateful for their lives.
And that I get to end all of our days with lullabies.
September 24, 2015
Kindness in September
According to calendars and Starbuck's pumpkin spice latte availability, fall has officially arrived.
September is depressing when you live here. Day after day of ninety-something degree heat, and then factoring in humidity that adds insult to injury, summer is long and fights to the death to stick around. The only sign I really have that the seasons are changing is the way the sun shines through my living room window. It happens every September and nothing is more glorious than this autumn light.
See? Glory.
When you live in the south, autumn is a season that you have to make yourself, something that must be created. The other day, I put out all of my pumpkins, fall foliage and warm colored decorations. The pillows were changed, the shelf above our TV got its seasonal face-lift and my kitchen was spruced up for the season reminding us of the themes of harvest, gratitude and thanksgiving. Even my six-year old noticed it the moment he walked in after being gone.
"Yay! It's fall! I love when you decorate for fall. It's so pretty!"
My decorations signal the things he has come to count on this time of year: Pumpkin pie. Our annual pumpkin carving party. Being tortured at the pumpkin patch so I can get cute pictures. Dressing up for Halloween. Getting in the car and possibly not getting third degree burns from sitting on black leather seats. But even he knows, autumn is something we create, something we do and make together, because it certainly does not feel like fall.
If we don't usher it in ourselves, it's almost as if the season won't come. We are in the throes of Christmas and holiday cheer before autumn truly arrives with it's quietness in December.
I was actually reluctant to decorate for fall this year, which is unlike me. Usually, I take things out before the month begins and start it off with all of my pumpkins and ritualistic September watching of You've Got Mail. But I've been in something of a funk for longer than I care to admit. And I knew if I waited to decorate until I felt like it or was in the mood or the weather finally shifted and cooled here, I wouldn't be true to myself or what makes me who I am.
So I decorated out of hope, that my heart would follow me into autumn.
Last October, I completed a half-marathon. It was one of the best and hardest and most fought for things I have ever done in my entire life. The whole experience grew my faith and love for Jesus, but after it was over I didn't know what to do with myself. I had just experienced something huge for myself and for my faith, but I felt off and empty. Two months later, Sarah's mom died. I wasn't able to go to the funeral and I felt like I should have been there. I coudn't make it work and I was lost in my grief of both losing her and that I had to be absent while those I loved honored her without me. Sandy wasn't just my best friend's mom, she was my friend and a mother to me too. A routine check up at the end of the year, left me feeling shamed and humiliated by a nurse I didn't know well as my doctor was not able to be at my appointment. Voices of accusation and lies about my identity and who I was, or rather who I wasn't, were loud that day and I believed every one of them. After the new year, my RA became aggressive and very active again. I both started and failed an intense diet where I had worked up the guts to see a doctor about it. I started out brave and ended as a coward. I'm still ashamed of myself. Two months ago, I started a heavy medication which resulted in my husband needing a vasectomy. We weren't necessarily planning on more children, but the finality of closing that door left an ache in my soul. And then our church split and God called us to stay where we were. And this world - I feel incredibly weighed down by current events, an overall darkness and sadness of the state of our world.
I can hardly breathe writing all of that out. I've been spinning in all of these places, taking horrible care of myself and having little regard for what my heart, my body and my soul are needing.
The day the light came through my window and I sat in its familiar warmth and glow, I felt like I was able to calm down. All of these things I have been living and believing and struggling with suddenly halted in a few quiet moments with the beauty my Savior gave to me. I realized how I could always count on this moment to come. This silly infatuation I have with the light and my window in September. I count on it. It always comes. And how many things can we always count on? How many things really don't ever change?
He doesn't. He never changes. Yesterday, today and forever. Jesus is the same whether I'm training for a marathon or if I'm lazy on my couch. He is same whether I choose to have a salad for lunch or a cheeseburger. He is the same if my friend lives or if she dies, whether my disease is active or in remission. Even if our world changes or grows darker or scarier - He is the same. And I forgot this. I forget His consistency. I forget that He is faithful and unchanging and unwavering in His love and presence and affection for me.
I give my feelings more room and space than they deserve. I give them so much power that they take over and dictate what I'll do, where I'll go and how I'll show up to others. And for the last ten months, I've let my feelings rule my everything, forgetting how much they deceive me.
Maybe it's a silly analogy, but if I waited to decorate and usher in fall until it felt like it outside, I would miss the whole thing. If I wait until I felt ready to pick myself back up again or when everything that felt out of place in my heart was tidied up, I might never get back up.
Sometimes you have to do things because it's time, not because it feels like it. Sometimes you have to do what is necessary and trust that your heart and feelings will follow.
That's where I've been this week as I've made my green smoothies for breakfast. Last year, it was a small and easy way to add greens and other nutrients to my diet and something I can easily do again that doesn't make me feel like I'm dieting or being punished for where I'm at right now. I'm choosing to take the boys outside and walk the block and play in the sunshine in the afternoons, even if I'm slow and my back hurts from the weight I've gained. I'm choosing water over soda and taking my vitamins. I'm saying no to the things in church that I really want to say no to. I'm being honest with my friends about where I've been and where I would like to be. I'm discovering again who my really, real friends are - the ones that stick around after changes and hurts and awful church splits. I'm accepting my husband's pursuits of me when he leans in to kiss me and invites me to intimacy. I'm choosing to write over watching TV because I can't numb out when I'm writing since it's one of the places I feel the most alive in. I'm choosing to cry and let feelings pass rather than inviting them to stay.
I often mistake violence for pleasure, and indulgence for need. I'm discovering how to choose kindness for myself all over again. It's amazing how quickly you can forget how to be kind to your own soul and body and heart.
I decided not to wait until I feel better or until I've somehow graduated out of this ten-month long funk. I'm trusting the One who doesn't change. The One who always sends magical sunshine through my windows in September. The One whose kindness is so great, it leads me to repentance even if I don't feel like repenting.
That's the thing about God. He can be found in every season. I'm grateful where He reminds me of His faithfulness in something like autumn colored leaves - even if I bought them at a store and put them in a vase to look at. I'm thankful for where He continues to invite me to Himself, using September skies lit up to remind me that He really is always there.
I am choosing kindness for myself, in hopes that my heart follows me into autumn.
September is depressing when you live here. Day after day of ninety-something degree heat, and then factoring in humidity that adds insult to injury, summer is long and fights to the death to stick around. The only sign I really have that the seasons are changing is the way the sun shines through my living room window. It happens every September and nothing is more glorious than this autumn light.
See? Glory.
When you live in the south, autumn is a season that you have to make yourself, something that must be created. The other day, I put out all of my pumpkins, fall foliage and warm colored decorations. The pillows were changed, the shelf above our TV got its seasonal face-lift and my kitchen was spruced up for the season reminding us of the themes of harvest, gratitude and thanksgiving. Even my six-year old noticed it the moment he walked in after being gone.
"Yay! It's fall! I love when you decorate for fall. It's so pretty!"
My decorations signal the things he has come to count on this time of year: Pumpkin pie. Our annual pumpkin carving party. Being tortured at the pumpkin patch so I can get cute pictures. Dressing up for Halloween. Getting in the car and possibly not getting third degree burns from sitting on black leather seats. But even he knows, autumn is something we create, something we do and make together, because it certainly does not feel like fall.
If we don't usher it in ourselves, it's almost as if the season won't come. We are in the throes of Christmas and holiday cheer before autumn truly arrives with it's quietness in December.
I was actually reluctant to decorate for fall this year, which is unlike me. Usually, I take things out before the month begins and start it off with all of my pumpkins and ritualistic September watching of You've Got Mail. But I've been in something of a funk for longer than I care to admit. And I knew if I waited to decorate until I felt like it or was in the mood or the weather finally shifted and cooled here, I wouldn't be true to myself or what makes me who I am.
So I decorated out of hope, that my heart would follow me into autumn.
Last October, I completed a half-marathon. It was one of the best and hardest and most fought for things I have ever done in my entire life. The whole experience grew my faith and love for Jesus, but after it was over I didn't know what to do with myself. I had just experienced something huge for myself and for my faith, but I felt off and empty. Two months later, Sarah's mom died. I wasn't able to go to the funeral and I felt like I should have been there. I coudn't make it work and I was lost in my grief of both losing her and that I had to be absent while those I loved honored her without me. Sandy wasn't just my best friend's mom, she was my friend and a mother to me too. A routine check up at the end of the year, left me feeling shamed and humiliated by a nurse I didn't know well as my doctor was not able to be at my appointment. Voices of accusation and lies about my identity and who I was, or rather who I wasn't, were loud that day and I believed every one of them. After the new year, my RA became aggressive and very active again. I both started and failed an intense diet where I had worked up the guts to see a doctor about it. I started out brave and ended as a coward. I'm still ashamed of myself. Two months ago, I started a heavy medication which resulted in my husband needing a vasectomy. We weren't necessarily planning on more children, but the finality of closing that door left an ache in my soul. And then our church split and God called us to stay where we were. And this world - I feel incredibly weighed down by current events, an overall darkness and sadness of the state of our world.
I can hardly breathe writing all of that out. I've been spinning in all of these places, taking horrible care of myself and having little regard for what my heart, my body and my soul are needing.
The day the light came through my window and I sat in its familiar warmth and glow, I felt like I was able to calm down. All of these things I have been living and believing and struggling with suddenly halted in a few quiet moments with the beauty my Savior gave to me. I realized how I could always count on this moment to come. This silly infatuation I have with the light and my window in September. I count on it. It always comes. And how many things can we always count on? How many things really don't ever change?
He doesn't. He never changes. Yesterday, today and forever. Jesus is the same whether I'm training for a marathon or if I'm lazy on my couch. He is same whether I choose to have a salad for lunch or a cheeseburger. He is the same if my friend lives or if she dies, whether my disease is active or in remission. Even if our world changes or grows darker or scarier - He is the same. And I forgot this. I forget His consistency. I forget that He is faithful and unchanging and unwavering in His love and presence and affection for me.
I give my feelings more room and space than they deserve. I give them so much power that they take over and dictate what I'll do, where I'll go and how I'll show up to others. And for the last ten months, I've let my feelings rule my everything, forgetting how much they deceive me.
Maybe it's a silly analogy, but if I waited to decorate and usher in fall until it felt like it outside, I would miss the whole thing. If I wait until I felt ready to pick myself back up again or when everything that felt out of place in my heart was tidied up, I might never get back up.
Sometimes you have to do things because it's time, not because it feels like it. Sometimes you have to do what is necessary and trust that your heart and feelings will follow.
That's where I've been this week as I've made my green smoothies for breakfast. Last year, it was a small and easy way to add greens and other nutrients to my diet and something I can easily do again that doesn't make me feel like I'm dieting or being punished for where I'm at right now. I'm choosing to take the boys outside and walk the block and play in the sunshine in the afternoons, even if I'm slow and my back hurts from the weight I've gained. I'm choosing water over soda and taking my vitamins. I'm saying no to the things in church that I really want to say no to. I'm being honest with my friends about where I've been and where I would like to be. I'm discovering again who my really, real friends are - the ones that stick around after changes and hurts and awful church splits. I'm accepting my husband's pursuits of me when he leans in to kiss me and invites me to intimacy. I'm choosing to write over watching TV because I can't numb out when I'm writing since it's one of the places I feel the most alive in. I'm choosing to cry and let feelings pass rather than inviting them to stay.
I often mistake violence for pleasure, and indulgence for need. I'm discovering how to choose kindness for myself all over again. It's amazing how quickly you can forget how to be kind to your own soul and body and heart.
I decided not to wait until I feel better or until I've somehow graduated out of this ten-month long funk. I'm trusting the One who doesn't change. The One who always sends magical sunshine through my windows in September. The One whose kindness is so great, it leads me to repentance even if I don't feel like repenting.
That's the thing about God. He can be found in every season. I'm grateful where He reminds me of His faithfulness in something like autumn colored leaves - even if I bought them at a store and put them in a vase to look at. I'm thankful for where He continues to invite me to Himself, using September skies lit up to remind me that He really is always there.
I am choosing kindness for myself, in hopes that my heart follows me into autumn.
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