tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83732416881256591012024-03-13T06:29:29.914-07:00Hope, Faith and a FutureOur journey towards being a family.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger141125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-31628213406569016662016-05-03T13:33:00.002-07:002016-05-03T13:33:59.574-07:00Being<div class="MsoNormal">
At this moment, I am wife, mother, daughter, teacher, but I
never stop being a mourner. I never stop thinking of you. Imagining you. Wondering what you would be like. This doesn’t add or subtract from my love for
your siblings. Instead it reflects my empty space. The hole you left in my
heart. We will always be a family
missing a member. It never ends. It
lessens, eases, but it doesn’t leave. Here in this moment I am overwhelmed with
longing for you. It will pass, life will
move on, but here and now you are close. The pain is close. The wings of grace
which cover us will lift and fall, and we will continue on. You will go with
us. Always with us. Never truly gone. Grieving you is like breathing. The reality of the pain resides deep inside. Planted
and solid. A part of my being.<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-56303715269057796112016-04-05T21:45:00.002-07:002016-04-05T21:45:29.458-07:00Thankful for the roughLately life has been busy. Exhausting, overwhelming, constant stress busy. A baby, a three year old, life, change, finances, relationships, merely existing takes more energy than I sometime have. This is the eye of the storm. I am in the thick of my motherhood journey, and there are days when I am not sure I have what it takes.<br />
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Those moments used to break me, but now I find myself reveling in them. Not because I enjoy exhaustion, or am some strange sadistic Cinderella, but because those moments are a reflection of the blessing that have been poured out on us. When our children are both crying, the house is a disaster and I can't remember when I last showered, my husband will smile and remind me how hard I prayed for this.<br />
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I begged for the opportunity to build up these little people. God had to break me down and remake me. I had to learn to trust and be humble. I had to have my definition of success be replaced by His. The most important job I have is to raise these children. What an honor, and overwhelming responsibility.<br />
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Here, in the thick of it, I have found myself amazed at what trust God must have in us. My patience is short, my wit isn't as quick as it once was, my hair isn't done, I live in yoga pants and my successes are measured in love given and character molded. These two little people will be my greatest mission field. They are my greatest chance to spread the love of God.<br />
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In a few days, I will add working back to my mother title. There will be hectic mornings, and adjustment tears. I will struggle to find balance and energy. I am so thankful for the roughness of this time, because it forces me to humbly admit that I can't do it alone. I need Jesus everyday. I need Him to calm my anxious heart, and guard my tongue. I need Him to give me wisdom to discipline with grace and love. I need Him to<br />
guide us as we enter a time of transition.<br />
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The small hearts Mothers are entrusted with are the most precious things we will ever hold. Protecting them, breathing love into them, filling them with God's perfect love is the greatest calling I have. I am thankful for the roughness of real love. For the laundry, dishes, tantrums, and cuddles are small stepping stones on our journey towards building a lasting legacy.<br />
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My Mother stood in the rough alone, but for the grace of God she may not have been able to love us all as much as she did. My Grandmother stood in the rough, and prayed for us before we were born. I am their legacy, I pray I can show my children the same kind of unconditional love that mirrors the great love of our Savior. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-39223801878073179072016-01-02T21:39:00.000-08:002016-01-02T21:39:06.898-08:00I am not responsible for my kid's happinessLately I have been annoyed with myself, and Christmas has highlighted my major issue. Somehow, someway, I decided to be responsible for my children's happiness. I took on the task of ensuring they felt loved, adored and well, happy. This madness reached it's zenith when my three year old son tragically threw himself on the couch and told me, "I don't love you!" because I was nursing his sister and therefore unable to play cars.<br />
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It wasn't always like this. When Harry was younger I deliberately didn't play with him all the time. Honestly, I am not a huge fan of playing with my kid. I don't really want to. Now, I do like to do a craft or cook or read, and generally have conversations with him. I don't like to play hot wheels, or super heroes or whatever else he wants me to drop everything for. I used to be really good at saying no, but then. Well then I lost my second son at 20 weeks.<br />
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When Teddy died, I gave into this feeling that I had to make Harrison feel loved all the time. I was guilty about how the death of his brother and my ensuing recovery and grief stole me from him. I was determined to make it up to him. I threw myself into making him happy. We played and played, when he was upset we talked it out, we practice positive parenting, we did time ins, I praised him to give him positive attention. It all worked, my son was happy. The transition to a sister was bumpy, but we praised him, and talked about feelings and did time ins and he is happy. Harper is happy. Justin and I are tired.<br />
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I recently came across this<a href="http://community.today.com/parentingteam/post/what-would-my-mom-do-drink-tab-and-lock-us-outside" target="_blank">blog post by Jen Hatmaker</a>, and the sun shined upon and I was made wise. I can't think of a single time my Mom played with me, or worried about my happiness. She cared for my needs, she cooked, baked, did crafts, watched movies and took me on special trips. She made sure I was loved and cared for, but she didn't manage my happiness.<br />
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I wasn't entertained, in fact I was sent off to entertain myself. No way would I tell her I was bored, who knew what gnarly chore I would get stuck with. If I was angry and went to my room to pout, fine, and I better be ready to apologize for my sassy attitude. My Mom was worried about me as an adult. She was trying to feed and clothe me, and she for sure wasn't giving me time ins. In fact, I remember being told to get outside or I would be in trouble. My cousin and I were often told to ask for stuff at the screen and not enter.<br />
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If Nicole and I, who are less than a year apart and lived across the street from one another, had a fight no one interfered. We wouldn't have dreamed of telling our Mom's about it. We worked it out. I spent hours playing by myself, welcome to being seven years younger than your siblings, and I had fun. I developed a great imagination, which led to me being an adult who can think outside of the box and problem solve. Oh, and I can imagine how awful something may be and have empathy. I developed a serious book obsession, and grew up to be an English teacher.<br />
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The point is, I was and am happy. This is pretty amazing considering some intense family drama that surrounded my childhood. Newly sober Dad reappears at 7 and "surprises" you at your Grandfather's funeral? Check Step-Dad gets so angry that he often screams, yells and throws things? Check. Father and Step-Father are masters in manipulation and emotional abuse? Check. Fear of abandonment? Check. I had issues. Much larger and nastier issues than my kids will, and you know what, I was happy.<br />
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My Mom kept a roof over my head, food in my belly, clean clothes on my back and sheets on my bed. I came home to a clean and organized home and I always knew that I was loved. I was safe. There was routine and respect and love. We discussed the big feelings. I can't imagine how hard it was for my Mom to explain the return of a father that I believed was a fairy tale, was back and wanted a relationship with me. She then had to respect my decision and communicate to him that I didn't want said relationship, all while helping my older sister foster and build a relationship. FYI, neither of our choices led to eternal happiness.<br />
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Nothing we do leads to eternal happiness. If I become responsible for my kid's happiness than I fail to train up adults who can find happiness in the darkest of circumstances. Yet, society tells me that if I let my kid be bored, I am not a good mom. If I don't play with him, then I am "wasting this fleeting time." If I focus on cleaning my house and getting dinner on the table, then we aren't "making memories." I feel guilty for choosing to sit down, for the first time all day, and read my book. My husband and I have been known to drop what we are doing to ensure my son feels heard and respected. I would have been told to wait respectfully.<br />
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After all of this introspective analysis of my parenting style and it's effect on my children's future happiness, also something I am sure my Mother never did, I am ceding the responsibility of my kids happiness to them. I will be responsible for their well-being, health, manners, accepting age appropriate responsibility, and generally not raising them to be annoyingly selfish jerks.<br />
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This means that they will be bored and sad. They will have to fix issues themselves, and sometimes the problems will be big and they will really hurt and it will kill me to stand back and see what happens. This means I must provide them with tools towards success instead of running ahead to ensure success.<br />
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We have been practicing this new philosophy for a week. My son is still sitting around telling me he is bored and giving me sad eyes. Tonight, while I was making dinner and his Dad was watching the game, he went to his room to pout and came out three times to make sure we knew he was in there pouting. This is a new reality for him, and I feel terrible for changing it. I want to rush in and talk it out and make sure he feels better, but I can't. I am too tired. Just when I thought I would go and check on him, he came running down the hall with his monster truck. He was lost in some grand adventure. He needs me to leave him alone even if he doesn't know it yet, besides, if he needs someone to provide him constant attention and play with him nonstop, he can always go to my Mom. She would move heaven and earth and to make him happy.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-62852349565687104552015-12-22T21:31:00.001-08:002015-12-22T21:38:53.809-08:00The Gospel of HateI am currently struggling with the gospel of hate. The rampant call to fear and hate those who are different than us is overwhelming my senses. It is on the news, in social media, within friend and familial relationships, on bumper stickers and signs and in every day conversations. "They", fill in the blank, are wrong, different, dangerous, racist, liars, manipulative, over-educated, under-educated, lacking patriotism, terrorists, evil, lazy, mentally ill, and on and on and on. "We", fill in the blank, are righteous, patriotic, honest, protecting our nation, hard-working, real Americans, healthy, right, Christians, and on and on and on. The point is that there is an us and a them. They are dangerous and must be stopped. We should be afraid, angry and fighting. If we do not wake up and take charge, then they will overwhelm us and destroy all we love. This makes me fear for my babies, for their future. Will they be an us or a them? Will they be on the right or wrong side? Will those people get to them and hurt them? How can I protect them?<br />
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This wears me down. The constant noise. The repeating of statements and manipulation of soundbites. I don't just hear it in the media, but in my everyday life. The political memes, articles, and angry statuses. The invitations to join this or that movement. The constant cruelty makes me tired. People are proselytising hate,committed to the gospel of digging in and building up walls of anger, bitterness, jealousy and fear. It is so easy to get caught up and join in. </div>
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The world IS changing. The world IS a mess. The world HAS always been that way. The world IS supposed to be that way. We live in a broken society. If our society wasn't broken, we wouldn't need salvation. There is a sick nostalgia that tells us that the world used to be perfect, it used be everything we wanted it to be, but now, now it is Babylon. Buying into this lie is dangerous. The Bible is a long catalog of a broken and sinful world. It was perfect in Eden, pre-apple, pre-banishment, pre-sin, but from that point on the world was and is sick. If it wasn't than why would we need salvation? When you glorify the past, you eliminate the need for Jesus. </div>
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As a christian in this messy world we are called to change things. "We" are the lucky ones who have found salvation and been forgiven. If we respond to the call to hate, if we divide ourselves into "them" and "us" we will change things. We will create more division, we will be in a world that caters to our concept of right and justice, we will be surrounded by people who agree with us and support the same things. We will feel righteous and correct, leading charges to exclude and eliminate those who don't fit into our mold of those who deserve salvation. This is what happens when we put ourselves in the way of salvation. </div>
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The messy world is built off selfish human desires. We are built to hate and divide. We bring that into the world. It is our natural inclination to selfishly protect ourselves and those we love. It is easy to rationalize our actions and cling to our petty justifications. We don't have to forgive, we don't have to engage, we don't have to interact with "them" and can give a hundred reasons why. Christ's love is the opposite of this. His salvation rises above our selfish desires, goes beyond our hate. The love we are offered is unconditional and all encompassing. In return we are asked to reflect that love back to the world. That is how we change the world. Not by embracing their gospel of hate, but by countering that with the more powerful gospel of love. </div>
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"Beloved, let us love one another. For love is from God, and anyone that loves is born of God. He that loveth not, knoweth not God. For God is love." 1 John 4:7-8</div>
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If you can't love, you don't know God, because God is love. We are called to love. Not those who are who like us, not just those who agree with us, but everyone. </div>
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"Owe nothing to anyone-except your obligation to love one another. For he who loves his neighbor has fulfilled the law" Romans 13:8</div>
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"Love your neighbor as yourself" Mark 12:31</div>
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Clearly, love is the major motif here. Love, isn't limited to a certain group or cause. Neighbor isn't clearly explained. We are simply called to love. This is hard. It is the exact opposite of our instincts. Our nature cries out against it. How can we love those we fear? Why would we seek to love someone who hurt us, or another person we love? It can't be possible to combat the chaos and hatred we encounter on a daily basis. God is asking too much of us.<br />
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He really is. We, the fleshly selfish beings we are, cannot possibly be expected to do more than embrace the gospel of hate. We will categorize people and remember their wrongs. In some cases we actively seek to vilify those we do not understand or know. In some instances churches support this by "educating" their congregations on the dangers of one group or another. We are weak. I am one of the weakest. I love judging people. I am super good at it. I love to think about what they have done wrong and mull over the ways they are inferior to me. I can easily list all the reasons I don't have to forgive someone, and why I am justified in my opinion that they are dumb.<br />
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So how do I, an embracer of the gospel of hate, learn to love so that I may know God and fulfill His law? It is rough, but here are some steps that have helped me shift towards the Gospel of Love.<br />
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1. Surrender: I suck at loving. I can't do it on my own. I have to actively seek God. Sometimes He pushes me to love at moments I really don't want to. Recently I have watched someone's actions truly hurt my Mother. I really wanted to bring down the Gospel of Hate. REALLY WANTED TO, but just as I was gearing up, a small voice told me to pray. Not for them, but for me. To ask God to help me surrender my anger and allow Him to teach me to forgive and love this person. I am currently praying this daily.<br />
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2. Walk Around in their Shoes: In To <i>Kill a Mockingbird,</i> Atticus tells Scout she can't understand other people until she walks around in their shoes. He is sharing wisdom for us all. Atticus couldn't imagine a world where we all walk around looking at screens and never in our neighbors eyes. Social media makes us forget that we are all humans. It makes it easy to judge, we are never at risk of stepping into another pair of shoes. Yet, we all need to do this. A few days ago I read some truly hateful comments on an article about a former student who is transgender. I was heartbroken. I have walked beside this person. I know they have feelings and dreams. In them I see my own children. We all need to put down the screens and start walking in the shoes of our fellow humans.<br />
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3. Love those who hurt us the most: I have a relative who has made some shockingly poor choices. Those choices have upended the lives of my entire family. It has ripped what was a solid family unit apart. Sides have been chosen, lines have drawn, siblings don't speak to one another and it all boils down to one person's choice. This makes them hard to love. I don't want to. Again and again I find myself having to surrender to God. Having to pray. Having to fight against my basic human nature. I have to choose to believe that God will fix our family. His love is powerful enough to save all of us.<br />
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4. Faith: If we believe the world is a broken horrible place and we are called to change that place, then we must have faith that God's love is powerful enough to overwhelm our base natures and transform us into reflections of His loving salvation. The impossible becomes possible when the Holy Spirit is allowed to pour out love through us. Only then can we meet people where they are, love them for who they are and not expect them to change.<br />
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5.Do Something: God has been challenging me, not to sit at home and write a blog, but to go out and actively love. This means actively praying for God to create oppurtunities for His love to shine through me. It means embracing the idea that I don't have to understand or agree with someone to love them. I am still struggling to follow this call to humble myself and wash the feet of my neighbor. The other day I made myself go across the street and check on neighbor. I had to make myself do this, because I am busy and the baby was tired and it was rainy and I didn't want to try. God kept working on me. He answered my prayer to embrace chances to show love.<br />
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The Gospel of Hate is powerful and seductive. We all have been ardent missionaries spreading the message wherever we go. Luckily, The Gospel of Jesus is more powerful. This Christmas season, let's all try to be missionaries by spreading the message of God's unconditional love wherever we go. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-37730394740576132182015-12-16T09:49:00.001-08:002015-12-16T09:49:38.530-08:00Seven7 is the number of years I waited for my family to be complete.<br />
7 is the number of times I thought I was pregnant.<br />
7 is the amount of clomid rounds I did.<br />
7 is the time I checked in for Teddy's delivery.<br />
7 is the number of years we were married when Harper was born.<br />
7 is the age Ashley was when she lived with us.<br />
7 is the number of hours I pushed with Harrison<br />
7 years is how long Egypt was in famine<br />
7 days is how long it took God to create the Earth<br />
7 years is how long Jacob worked for Rachel (and then 7 more after being tricked)<br />
7 years is how long the Israelites were given to the Midians<br />
7 years is how long it took to build Solomon's Temple<br />
7 years is how long David had to wait to be crowned the King of Israel<br />
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It feels as if we have come out of a desert. We spent the past seven years focused on creating our family, and now we have the rest of our lives to build that family up. I was unsure that we would ever be at this point. For a long time, I was angry and bitter and sad. I have been amazed and awestruck and astounded. My heart has been taken from me. I know now what real sorrow is. I also know happiness like I have never know before. I understand contentment. Patience has a new meaning. Life has slowed down and sped up at the same time.<br />
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Love is what we relied on when it was dark.<br />
Love is not as simple as we thought it was.<br />
Love is what kept us going.<br />
Love is harder than I thought it was.<br />
Love is what God showed me when I didn't deserve it.<br />
Love is what our friends and family poured out on us.<br />
Love is discipline and hard choices<br />
Love is choosing to let go of what you want<br />
Love is giving you child a peaceful death<br />
Love is the sound of your little boy running to hug you<br />
Love is the smile your baby gives when you kiss her<br />
Love is the exhausted husband who stayed up so you can sleep<br />
Love is the Mom who comes to help because you are her baby<br />
Love is a God who gives us all this when we don't deserve it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-88341396007129254772015-08-20T19:26:00.001-07:002015-08-20T19:26:11.358-07:00Tag Me Out Bro!Today has been one of those Mama days. I have said "No", "What are you doing?", "Don't do that" "Why did you do that?", "Did you poop your pants?", "Why did you spread applesauce all over yourself?", "No, you cannot stand on the sit and spin.", "If you put your drill in your mouth it will hurt", "I am right here". You get the point. Add to that my son's inability to be less than six inches from me all day, no nap, intense back pain, a cat who is somehow always under my feet and a husband who is working hard to redo the kitchen cabinets and I am in that place.<br />
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I am eating peanut butter sandwich crackers and drinking a Pepsi. I put on the second movie and placed my son in front of it. I am sitting on a yoga ball that leaves me two inches too short for this desk and I am pretty sure that smell is me. The sink is full of dishes, and there is a pile of yet more vegetables that I need to freeze or can or throw out the window. I emptied half the dishwasher before realizing the dishes weren't clean. I have had to wash poop out of clothes. Adulting has become too hard. I want to be tagged out pro-wrestling style.<br />
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My doppelganger can come in and I will go to hotel. One with a fancy lobby and rooms with incredible beds and super soft robes. Wearing the robe, I will read a book and order room service. I could spend sometime reveling in the silence. I could go to the bathroom by myself. I wouldn't need long. Twenty four hours would be enough.<br />
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Thanks to the glory of my Mom's group, I know that I am not alone. Other Mamas feel this too. They are also biting back the scream as they tell their child to not do something for the thousandth time. They feel the guilt that comes with your child wanting nothing but you and you wanting nothing but ten minutes to breath. They know that you can feel this overwhelmed and still revel in the wonder that is bed time snuggles. You can love being a Mom and still need to scream sometimes.<br />
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So scream, go into the bedroom, close the door and let loose. Dance to a song your kids probably shouldn't hear. Group text your Mom friends. Call your sister. Call your Mama, and pray she will take the kid for awhile. You may smell and your t-shirt is gross, but lipstick goes with anything. Know we are all in it with you. If you don't know other Mom's send me a message. Adulting is hard. No one should do it alone.<br />
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Today was rough, but my kid is alive. I remembered to eat something and keep the baby growing. At some point I think I kissed my husband. I will give the cat some soft food to make up for all the stepping on. Now I will put on some headphones and listen to Sondheim while my kid watches one more episode of the Bob the Builder. Stay strong fellow Mama. I got your back.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-16607633516964545992015-08-09T21:40:00.002-07:002015-08-09T21:40:39.371-07:00Tonight I CryI miss my son. As we prepare our home for our daughter, I find myself missing him more and more. Missing him doesn't negate excitement for her. It is just complicated and hard. Sometimes I have to cry. The pain doesn't go away. It lessens, but it doesn't leave.<br />
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Tonight it hurts, and I am crying for a myriad of reasons. There are so many women in the same place. Miscarriage is shockingly common, but we as a society tend to turn away from it. For the parents, the families, turning away isn't an option. They will always miss their child.<br />
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Tonight I am mourning my son. I am cursing Ancephaly and how it took his life. At the same time, my daughter is kicking me, reminding me she is healthy, my rainbow after the flood. In the room next to us, their older brother sleeps and reminds me that I have already been given a miracle.<br />
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Tonight I am praying for all the parents who have lost a child. I am hoping that they are as blessed with support as we are. I am asking God to comfort them as He has comforted is. I am wishing for a day when miscarriage is something that we can freely discuss.<br />
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I miss my son, I am excited for my daughter, and delighted to be the Mother of my three year old miracle baby. God is with me. He is beside me and will comfort me. It is complicated, painful and incredible all at once.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-64996162845395838972015-08-05T17:19:00.001-07:002015-08-05T17:19:28.591-07:00Anxiety, Failure, Infertilty, PCOS and GraceI have been thinking about this topic for awhile. What to say? What not to say? How to get my experience across without diminishing the experience of others? At a recent doctor's check up, my OBGYN thanked me for being honest with her about my mental state. She sees so many women who are ashamed or unaware of the source of their issues. I spent a long time being one of those women, so perhaps it is time to discuss what changed and why I am not scared to share anymore.<br />
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I have been anxious my whole life. My whole life. Things scared me in a way that didn't scare other kids. I thought about the worse case scenario all the time, and I truly believed that everyone felt that way. A combination of a cautious nature, vast imagination and classic abandonment issues made it hard for me to recognize what was and what was not normal. However, I thrived as a little kid. Outside of an obvious undiagnosed case of ADHD- and no one was looking for that in 1984- I was happy. I was weird, but not anymore than any other child of the 80's.<br />
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After we moved to Oregon, and I was isolated from my large and loving family. After my mother divorced my Step-Father, an excellent move on her part. After my Father exploded back into my life and the hormones of puberty were suddenly present. That is when I think my anxiety really took hold. My world was changed so quickly, my support systems so depleted, my grandparents and sisters so far away that I for the first time I felt truly scared. Now it was just my Mom and I, and she was scared. She was tired and scared and doing all she could to put a roof over our head and keep us fed. We had no money. If it wasn't for the generosity of our church and neighbors, we wouldn't have had food. My Step-Father did all he could to make life hard for my mother. It was rough time, and I want to be clear that she did all she could. A single Mom in an economically depressed town in the early 90's had few choices. She put me in a community that kept tabs on me, she put me in school where I had friends. She worked hard to rebuild my sense of safety and security. She did all she could to alleviate an anxiety she didn't even know existed. There was no way I ever would have told her.<br />
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Through high school it got harder to hide my growing fear. Anxiety works away at you. It keeps you up at night. It makes you abandon social situations and drop out of things you enjoyed. You feel like at any moment, the whole world will crash around you. I felt that way all the time, but it amplified my Senior year. Encroaching life decisions overwhelmed me, leaving home and being on my own was terrifying. When my Dad wrote a bad check to pay my tuition at Pacific, my world spun even more. My carefully planned future was gone in an instant. Suddenly I was stuck, going to a school I didn't want to and unable to imagine a future that would work. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone what had happened, so I let them all think that I had stayed for my boyfriend. That was a terrible year. I actually dropped out of life. I didn't want to participate. Everything was scary and everyone else seemed to know what they were doing. I stopped trusting myself, or my decisions. I felt like I had failed before my life began.<br />
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Somehow I got to Western, I am not even sure how. Somehow I met Jill. Somehow I started going through the motions of life. I became less scared. I made new friends, who encouraged me to go to counseling. There for the first time I was told that I wasn't failure. I was sick. I learned coping mechanisms. When life got extra stressful, I took a drug to help. I found my way through. It wasn't easy. There is a lot I would change, but I learned how to function. How to be happy. How to be ok.<br />
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It all worked, until 2003/2004. That year I gained sixty pounds in three months. Sixty pounds in three months. I couldn't figure out why. My eating hadn't changed that much. My insurance paid 30% of any doctors visit, so I had to be careful about when to go. I worked out, and I gained weight. Justin and I changed our diet, and I gained weight. I swear to you I slept, and I gained weight. At the same time, my anxiety worsened. All my tips and tricks stopped working. It felt as if my whole body was spinning out of control. In desperation, I went to the doctor my insurance had approved. He spent ten minutes with me. He asked about my exercise regime and diet. At the end he told me he could do nothing to help someone who was clearly lying to him. No one gains sixty pounds for no reason. Until I was willing to really work at losing weight, I would have to be content. The only one who could change me was me.<br />
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I slunk out of his office and sat in my car and cried. A medical professional had just confirmed what I had secretly known all along. I was fraud and a failure. Now I was a fat fraud and failure. I would never do anything or go anywhere. I was incapable of having a future. Of being happy. I was a big fat mess, and it was all my fault. I had let my family down, my boyfriend down, myself down. I was worthless. I truly believed that. It is so hard to type, because it is so ugly. Alone in my car, 25 years old, while the rain poured down on a gloomy Oregon day I embraced the idea of my worthlessness. For the next few months, I did all I could to demonstrate this to those around. I sabotaged my relationship with Justin, I allowed my self to be belittled at work. I actively agreed with my father when he told me I would go nowhere if he wasn't there to save me. I was a mess.<br />
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This is when Justin loved me beyond what I deserved. This is when he worked two jobs, and came home to lift me up. He just stayed. He just loved. Slowly he helped me function. I started grad school, got a job, we got engaged and then married. I was happy, and I never discussed my weight. When I went to new doctors, I never told them about the sudden weight gain. I didn't tell them that my anxiety amplified when I had my period. I never mentioned the incredibly painful cysts I had. I powered through. I smiled. I had a husband, my dream job, friends. The rest didn't matter.<br />
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Then we started to try to have a family, and it didn't work. I was told to lose weight. I couldn't. We endured test after test, month after month of heartbreak, years started to pass. Finally, my Mom recommended I see a doctor she had heard good things about. I was in her office for 20 minutes and I found myself sobbing out the whole sordid story to her. She ordered tests, she prescribed drugs. She explained that I had Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. That my anxiety, weight gain and infertility where all normal for people who have this disease. She helped me understand that my mental and physical health was connected. She made me feel sane. She believed me. I responded to the treatment. I lost forty pounds. I felt healthy. I could talk about infertility. I ate better. I felt happier than I had in long time.<br />
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I wasn't a failure. My body functioned differently. I functioned differently. Different, but not failing. Once I knew how my body worked. Weight was manageable. I also understood that the 130 pound me was probably not an option, but a healthy happy me was. In the midst of this I became pregnant with Harry, and for the first time in a long time I felt on track. After his birth, the anxiety came back with vengeance. I was terrified for him, but some drugs and counseling helped. Things felt good.<br />
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Teddy's death broke me. Losing him destroyed ten years of work. I was back to that parking lot. I was worthless. Only now I was worthless and scared. Scared in a way I didn't know was possible. When I left the house, the world closed in on me. A simple conversation with the gas station attendant made me shake and sweat. Running into someone I knew was a nightmare. Being around friends and family was like walking on glass. I forgot how to be around people. All of last summer was a long stretch of me stumbling to act like I was normal. There were major drugs and major counseling. It took all I had to go back to work. To smile and make small talk. In the morning I would sit in my classroom and work my through constant panic attacks. I thought my principal wanted to fire me. I was sure my coworkers hated me. I knew my students were counting down until they were no longer in my class. I shattered. I was hollow.<br />
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God did a lot this fall. He held me together. He moved me forward. He literally walked beside me and got me through the day. His love kept me going. His grace pushed me forward. His word got me out of bed in the morning. Then I found I was pregnant. Then there was a new baby on the way. I didn't want to feel anything. I didn't want to be happy or sad or anything. I wanted to be numb. The problem was I wasn't. I am not. Walking into the doctor's leads to panic attacks. An ultrasound is indescribable. It is all too much. Too much fear, too much pain, too much happiness, too much love. Just too much. This is what mental illness is. It is what anxiety combined with PTSD is. The world is too much. Life is too much. I can go from the highest high to lowest low. I am a mess.<br />
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Thankfully God loves my mess. He never gives up on me. When it is too much, He is there. When I am despondent, He is there. When I can't, He does. He provided me with doctors who helped me find a drug that helps, a counselor who is pretty amazing, a community of support that is overwhelmingly filled with love. When you suffer from a mental illness, it can be harder to see God's ability to love you. It can be harder to find the faith required to accept the Grace so lovingly offered to you. Through my whole anxiety filled life, He has been there. Paving the way, putting in safety nets, providing me with support and love. Through it, He has taught me about love. He has taught me the glory of His timing. He has taught me to let go of me. He has carried me this whole way. Most of all He has given me the grace to accept who I am. To share where I am at. I am a mess, my imperfections are many and I am struggling each and everyday. However, in that struggle I find my Savior and He brings me peace.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-7952633886230390232015-06-24T17:16:00.001-07:002015-06-24T17:16:46.249-07:00When you feel aloneI recently read a blog about how lonely motherhood can be, and I was surprised by how deeply it resonated with me. Me, who works and has a vast group of Mamas to support her. Part of this author's experience with loneliness involved infertility and infant loss. These things set you apart. It makes it harder to just be. You walk around with a constant ache that you don't know how to describe to anyone. It is isolating.<br />
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Being pregnant again has brought another type of isolation. First, the secret pregnancy and the unwillingness to tell anyone. It was hard enough for us to believe it was true, harder still to have hope she would be healthy and hardest of all to think about her future. What if it was ripped away? We couldn't tell others, it was too terrifying. Weekly check ups, massive anxiety attacks, sobbing for the son who isn't here and constant overwhelming fear. FEAR. I spent 8 weeks of my life holding my breath. Small prayers, please let her be ok right now, and now, and now. Please don't take her, please.<br />
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Ultrasounds were, and are, the worst. I don't sleep the night before they come. I lie awake and hash it out with God. If they find the worst, if she can't survive, please don't make me see it this time. Or, you made her, you did this, please make her healthy, please keep her safe. Clenching my husband's hand, I hold my breath and wait as the tech checks each small detail. We don't speak, we don't smile, we watch. He flexes his hand, I am crushing it. The tech tries to reassure us and in my head I sing every chapel song I learned at Grace. I sing praise song after praise song. They always end well. She is always healthy. I am always exhausted. After the last two, I took four hour long naps.<br />
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I think that people expect me to express unparalleled joy, or to rush about proclaiming a miracle, and I feel that I am failing them. My classroom neighbor, Michelle, described my feelings the best, "Wow, God where did that come from?" I am learning to swim in this sea of pregnancy after miscarriage. There are moments of unparalleled joy, they really do come, but I also have moment of deep grief. Every moment I celebrate the coming of our baby girl, I remember the little boy we lost.<br />
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This is what makes it lonely. I live in the high and low at the same time. Pregnancy has amplified my PTSD, the smallest thing can cause big issues. Getting a new car seat led to me lying awake wondering what I would do with that car seat if she dies. Would I sell it? Never be able to look at again? Would it sit in our garage? Perhaps I should wait to buy the car seat? Maybe I should wait on all of it? But that isn't fair to her. Dear God, she isn't even born and I am messing her life up. All of this is crazy and I should sleep, but I can't sleep because now I can't stop thinking about how crazy I am.<br />
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I don't usually sleep through the night. I take naps. Sometimes I am nauseous from pregnancy and sometimes I worry my self sick. This is me on drugs. I spent the first three months drug free, and I couldn't function. I couldn't keep track. All I could do was worry. This level of anxiety is isolating. I can't explain it to you. I can't change it. It just my current reality.<br />
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Where is God is this lonely anxiety ridden time? He is here, constantly. His word is assuring me, His arms are holding me, and He is teaching me to depend on His love through all things. Having faith doesn't mean that we are never worried or anxious. It doesn't mean we must be perfect. It means that when we feel bone crushingly lonely, we know we are not alone. We know that the He is with us. We know that we will come through this moment, this worry, this anxiety attack, and be ready to face what is next.<br />
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This is all new, all terrifying and all miraculous at once. Each moment is different. Each day brings a new challenge. Thankfully, I am not as alone as I sometimes feel.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-61252173817449671682015-06-09T13:24:00.001-07:002015-06-09T13:25:09.293-07:00Hope and TerrorOne year ago today, my life changed in a matter of seconds. Literally seconds. I went from the highest high to depths. The week that followed is a nightmarish blur and the grief still comes, yet here I am one year later sitting in a doctors office waiting to check on a baby, again.<br />
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I am terrified. That would describe this pregnancy. Terror. Constant fear and anxiety. I have lost the ability to believe that "it will all be alright." I no longer take a healthy baby for granted. I know that each moment her heart beats is a gift.<br />
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This doesn't mean I don't dream and plan. It doesn't mean I don't get butterflies of excitement. Just now they are tempered with loss. As I much I already love this little girl, as amazing of a miracle she is, as perfect as she will be for our family. She is not her brother. She will not fill the hole left by his loss. She has made her own place in my heart.<br />
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This week. The one year anniversary has come to me by surprise. I would reschedule my appointment, but we have today is the day for Spinal Bifida. Today, I sit in a doctors office and I hold two of my children in my heart.<br />
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My son has taught me that no matter what the future holds for my daughter, God will see me through it. My daughter has taught that there is unexpected joy after incomprehensible grief. They both show me how little I know about life and motherhood.<br />
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There will be other milestones, more tears of sadness and joy. I will take more breaths and pray more prayers. Today however, today I have been in long talks with God. His plan never ceases to amaze me, and His love and grace never cease to uphold me.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-48319606214001792182015-05-02T11:29:00.003-07:002015-05-02T11:32:22.436-07:00Shadow BoxI thought today would be a good day to put together Teddy's shadow box. A place to keep his ultrasounds, footprints, blanket and cards. Almost a year has passed and the pain isn't what it was. I want him to have a place in our home. I want it to feel like he was and is a part of our family. I waited until Justin and Harrison went to swim lessons, because I wanted to take his things out alone. It has been a long time since I looked at his ultrasounds or his little footprints. It has been a long time since I held his urn. Not because I forgot, but because I remembered how to live. Life pushes you forwarded.<br />
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Today, with the sun beaming, I felt like it was time. I fell apart. I cried as hard as I did the first time I saw those tiny footprints. I have sat here and sobbed for the past hour. Grief stays fresh. I am crying for hope lost, dreams vanished. For the little boy who should be starting to sit up and crawl and giggle. For his brother who will never play with him. For his memory, which will die out with his father and I. I am crying for all the other babies lost to horrible things we don't understand, and for all the Mamas whose arms ache to hold babies they never got to meet.<br />
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His last good ultrasound was taken almost exactly a year ago. That was before I knew about Ancephaly and how ultrasound machines have levels, or that most OBGYN's don't have the training to notice the disease early. It is before the amniotic fluid washed his brain away. Before the blackness that would meet us on the next ultrasound. This one is full of hope. Even at 13 weeks, it is clear he is a boy. He is there so alive.<br />
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I looked at it and tried to imagine myself on that day. That woman who was excitedly calling her husband, who had no concept of true fear or heartache. She did not know that she would soon be forced to make decisions that would rip her apart. The pain of inducing at 20 weeks and the anger of a body that does not want to give birth. She was happy. She was confident. She had few fears.<br />
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I will never be that woman again. I have learned to be happy, but in a different way. I am confident in the fact that God will not abandon us, and I can go forward assured of His great love. I have many great fears. I know fear in a way that I cannot forget. I have to work hard to leave that fear behind. It takes prayer, faith, healthy practices, acupuncture, counseling and at times meds.<br />
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I have cried and I am calmer. Grief doesn't lessen, it just becomes more manageable. I will get this shadow box done, and he will have a spot in our home. I am blessed. I had my son for 20 weeks. I got to have his footprints and his ultrasounds. I have an urn to hold. There are many Mamas who lose babies too early for these things. Babies that they have hoped and prayed and longed for. Some Mamas lose more than one, and they have yet to get to hold any of their children. I have wiggly miracle who is almost three.<br />
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As we approach Mother's Day, please keep these Mamas in your prayers. Mamas whose arms are empty and hearts ache. Mamas who long for their baby and have waited so long their hearts are broken. Mamas who aren't sure they will ever be seen as Mamas by society. They need extra love in the next week. Please reach out to one you know and offer it.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-3277888674768693372015-04-22T10:54:00.000-07:002015-04-22T10:54:07.006-07:00The Grace to ListenIt has been awhile since my last post. In the time since, God has been giving me the privilege to speak and connect with women who are dealing with loss of all kinds. My best friend lost her father. Though she knew he was ill, there is nothing that can prepare for your father not being there. Nothing. Another friend is grieving through secondary infertility. They are facing struggles that are hard to put into words. Infertility is isolating and deeply personal. No couples journey is the same. In the past two weeks, two women I know have suffered miscarriages. Though they will heal in body, smile again and hopefully have more children, there really aren't words to express the loss they have had.<br />
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When you someone you love is in pain and crying out for help, it is natural to want to step in and solve it. I am a control freak. I love to solve it. Solving it is my thing. Except none of this is my thing. How do I comfort someone who has lost a father? Me, who has never really had a father. I can't even imagine what it would be like. Yet, the sister of my heart lost an anchor in her world. I have to do something. For me, God stepped in and stopped me from being ridiculous. I had no words to comfort her, but I had the ability to make dinner and clean. It is nothing. It is less than she has done for me, but it is all I knew to do. I am here to listen when she calls, and I don't always listen well. Listening and problem solving is a skill I am working on. I am lucky that she has the grace to be patient with me while I learn it.<br />
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It would seem that I am tailor made to comfort someone who is struggling with infertility, but I was just heartbroken that my friend hurt so much. Yes, I have been there. Yes, I "get" it. But I also know that no one can truly grasp the emptiness of this disease. While we spoke, I was painfully aware of the weakness of my words. It is impossible to say, "it will be OK", because it may not be. I also don't want to overwhelm someone with my experiences, because this conversation wasn't about me. Once again, God told me to listen, and I was some what successful. It is still a skill I am working on.<br />
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Miscarriage is still a fresh wound for me. A deep fear and sharp pain always accompany a conversation around it. Friends who have had early term miscarriages often minimize their experience to me. "Yes, I am sad, but it wasn't what you went through". No, it isn't what I went through, but losing a baby you want is indescribable and incomparable to others losses. Whether it was six weeks or 13, grief and pain are real. Yes, it is common, but that doesn't mean it isn't painful. These moments are when I don't want to say anything. I have no words. I am truly only able to listen. What I am able to say on here, becomes impossible in real life. Strangely, this is the time I feel the most helpful. The most in touch.<br />
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I have spent the past month listening, God has been showing me that we all have suffering. We all have pain, and we all need someone to listen. If even for a moment. Just listen. Make a meal. Clean their house. Bring Coffee. Love through listening. This is tough for me, but I hope to become an expert at it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-12345236370147712062015-03-22T22:40:00.000-07:002015-03-22T22:40:06.596-07:00Me. Me. MeSome things have happened in the past few months that put me in a selfish space. Wait. That makes me sound like a passive bystander. The past month I have chosen to be selfish, cranky, and distant. I have wallowed in my pain, my comparisons, my unfulfilled wants. I embraced it. Reveled in it. Sank deeper into a sanctimonious stew of selfish sin.<br />
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I have been mean to my husband and short with my son. Jealousy, bitterness, greed, anger, and resentment have been my good friends. The further I sank, the easier it was to add self loathing and guilt. I'm awful.<br />
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You see, I am impatient and frustrated. I thought by now God would have done something to show me what this is all about. I thought I would know the plan, but my version of the plan feels impossible. I feel old, and ill and worthless. I wonder when my husband will wish for a wife whose reproductive system works, or when my son will blame me for his lack of siblings. This is not what I want.<br />
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People are beginning to tire of me, of listening to my struggles or my hopes. At least that is my paranoid perspective.I don't want to be the weird lady who we feel bad for, yet how can I be anyone else? I have wrapped myself up in my feelings. Held on to rage, sadness, disappointment, depression and shame. I am so ashamed. Infertility feels shameful, choosing to deliver your child and ending his life feels shameful, being sad still feels shameful.<br />
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I wrap myself up and around this because I am embarrassed and afraid. This broken, hurting, lost and tired woman is not who I planned to be. Yes, I see a counselor. Yes, I am seeking medical care, yes I know lots of women lose babies. Yes I know almost a year has passed. Yes, I thought I would be much better by now too. Yes, I thought we would be pregnant again. Yes, I thought another child would come. Yes, I am almost 37. Yes. Yes. Yes.<br />
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I get angry. I ask God why this is happening, and when a clear answer doesn't come I get angrier. Everyday I am at the foot of the cross crying out. Everyday God takes me to Joseph rotting in prison, Sarah laughing at His promise, David facing Goliath, Paul in chains, Stephen stoned, and back to Christ on the cross. Everyday I tell God I got it and plan to not be selfish, bitter and angry. Lately, I have failed everyday.<br />
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Everyday I am coming back with the same cry and every day He is holding me again. Perseverance develops character and character develops hope. Romans 5:4. The past few days the pain is less. I can make it further. See others besides me. I have no answers. I am frustrated. I am struggling. All I have is obedience, so each day I am back at the Cross crying again.<br />
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Maybe faith isn't being perfect, or getting it right? This selfish journey is part of the plan, and I may never know why or how. I am starting to believe that just trying is a big part of this. Admitting I need God in all of it and learning to be content when I don't want to be. God is slowly unwrapping me, helping me make small changes. Today, I was bitter, but I caught myself. Tomorrow I begin again. Thank God for His all encompassing patience, forgiveness, and love.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-71077623096558047062015-03-06T21:37:00.000-08:002015-03-06T21:40:22.965-08:00Faith expressed through loveThe only thing that counts is faith expressed through love Galatians 5:6<br />
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My son is singing. In his sleepy sweet voice he is crooning "grown ups come back". He has an unbreakable faith that those he loves come back to him. Mom,Dad, Nanny, Grandma and Grandpa, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, Hudson, Brett the cat. These people love him, therefore they will come back. I am in awe, and finally get the goal of child like faith.<br />
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I never believed people came back. I was distraught to see them leave and sure they wouldn't return. I lived in constant terror of losing my family and being alone. The roots of my anxiety disorder are pretty clear. I still live two minutes from my Mom and see her almost everyday. I still get anxious when we travel apart from each other.<br />
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This fear has impacted my faith. If you believe you will be abandoned, you will always be looking for the "good enough" balance. I did this great thing, so they will stay, but I also was bad so they will leave. You need the right balance to ensure security. Don't mess up or bad thing will happen and you will be alone and worthless.<br />
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I learned this as the daughter and step-daughter of two emotionally abusive fathers. They both gave and took love based on inconsistent and petty whims. They both used their words to hurt and manipulate. They used anger to control, and they both left. At 16, I determined that I couldn't balance the scale for a God whose love would only turn out to mirror my fathers. I wasn't worth loving.<br />
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I was a failure. An ugly failure. An ugly, fat, failure. I couldn't figure out what I needed to do to earn the love I wanted. Then I married a man who knew my worst secrets and loved me in spite of them. I begin to wonder if I knew anything.<br />
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I spent the beginning of my marriage waiting for him to leave. Waiting to tip the balance, waiting to be proven unlovable. He told me he wasn't leaving. He worked through the rough patches, held me while I cried, he had faith in us and he expressed it by continuing to love me when I didn't deserve it.<br />
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There is no "good enough " balance. All that matters is faith expressed through love. My husbands love impacted my faith. If I believed that God brought me Justin, then I had to believe He could offer me the same love.<br />
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I had to come to the Cross with the same faith my son carries everyday. Jesus was always there for me because He loves me. His love makes my faith possible, and that faith grows when I allow the Spirit to teach me to love.<br />
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A girl so like me returned to my life a day after I asked God to give me someone to share His love with. She is struggling to fight demons and be good enough. Unlike my son, her faith in those who should love her was shattered a long time ago. She lies, and runs, and manipulates. She cries, and begs for help, and I have a longing to love her. A fierce desire to protect her. She isn't my child, and the help I offer is small, but I love her. I have no scale. I can only offer love.<br />
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Of course I feel the same love for my son, but that love was born with him. This love came to me in an assurance of faith. This is Jesus using me to show how big His heart is. This is faith expressed through love. I am not good enough to love like this on my own. Scarred hands softly make my heart bigger and through that my faith grows. Loving this child is a gift.<br />
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I am not an exceptionally good or loving person. Anyone can have this love. Anyone can feel this joy. Anyone can be this hopeful. Anyone can revel in this faith. Ask for it. You don't need anything else. Jesus will do the rest. Your faith will grow when you accept His love. It will explode when you share it. No scales. No good enough. Just faith expressed through love.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-36426494201733955722015-03-05T21:39:00.001-08:002015-03-05T21:39:18.404-08:00PrisonAt what point do you break free? How do you you keep believing your pain will wnd and that all you are going through will be for the glory of God? My body is my prison. For almost a decade I have fought it. The constant struggle to get pregnant, lose weight, take a drug, have a procedure, workout but actually gain weight, a new drug, fertility meds, acupuncture,a miracle, no milk, non stop focus on getting milk, failing to feed my child, back to the weight struggle, infertility, surprise miracle two, exhaustion, illness, anemia, ANCEPHALY, baby kicks that disappear, too much unneeded milk, exhaustion, anxiety, exhaustion, anemia, cysts, exhaustion, precancerous nose, biopsy, precancerous face, menopause? Oh, biochemical pregnancy, acupuncture, trying to lose weight, hormones to balance your crazy, has made me hate my body.<br />
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I am trapped in it. It has failed me. I hate it. White hot, fierce, why don't you work. Hatred. My body's inability to meet its main biological imperative forms the chains that way my down. I keep expecting them to be miraculously removed, but the past month they have only gotten heavier.<br />
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Paul died after years of imprisonment. Peter too. Joseph went from slavery to prison, had hope of release and still waited two years for freedom. How did they do it? What staved off bitterness and self pity? These guys understood that suffering was nothing when compared to the love they were offered.<br />
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They still hurt. Paul complained of a pain,Peter was tortured, Joseph languished in prison for a decade. He had to bathe and shave to see Pharaoh. Their faith didn't grow because they overcame their prison. It grew because they submitted to their imprisonment and still chose to say, "you will not mie. Your plan not mine". Freedom came in death for Paul and Peter and a glorious promotion for Joseph.<br />
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I hate my body, yet God loves it. I want to give up, but God holds my hand. I want to fight, but He tells me peace. My miracle fix will most likely not come. I really physically and financially can't do more than one last round of treatments, and letting go of a baby leaves me with cysts and hormonal weight and a decision of how to proceed.<br />
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I have fought my prison,but I am learning to submit. To show my body love with healthy food and workouts, to use sunscreen and do yoga. My body sucks but my faith is growing stronger each day.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-15916148139687762592015-02-16T20:42:00.001-08:002015-02-16T20:42:34.682-08:00Why I can't discuss your ultrasoundDear Friend,<br />
I wanted to take a moment to explain my actions, and I thought doing it here may help others in similar situations. You may have noticed that I tend to shut down when you discuss your upcoming gender ultrasound. Or maybe you have seen me turn my head and begin a new conversation in the midst of you sharing your excitement at such and important day. I must seem so rude and selfish to you.<br />
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I was the last of us to discuss gender ultrasounds, and you were always interested and excited, but I can't discuss yours. The mere thought of it makes me dizzy. I am suddenly back in a small room going from joy to terror in seconds. My heart is racing, my world is spinning and I can't breath.<br />
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I am terrified. I belong to a club that I don't want anyone to join. I now know that good can become bad, and I do not want someone I care for to share that knowledge. Please know that I am praying. That I am happy for you. That when your baby comes I will hold him or her and be happy for your family, but for this moment. For this thing, I can't.<br />
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Other moments, when people discuss the terror of getting pregnant again, or tell me that I don't know hard it is with two kids, those I can get through. Those I can breath through, but this is too big. <br />
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I may not always be this woman. God is working on me. No matter what, you are in my prayers and I do want to know if you are having a boy or girl. I do want to celebrate with you, but it will take time and I am thankful for your patience.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-81372097194824973712015-01-27T16:26:00.002-08:002015-01-27T16:30:02.360-08:00I don't think I should have to pray for her. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="text 1Cor-13-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><span class="chapternum" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; bottom: -0.1em; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Arial; font-size: 24px; font-weight: bold; left: 0px; line-height: 0.8em; position: relative;">"<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"> </span><span class="text 1Cor-13-2" id="en-ESV-28651" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">2 </span>And if I have <span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-ESV-28651A" data-link="(<a href="#cen-ESV-28651A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span>prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, <span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-ESV-28651B" data-link="(<a href="#cen-ESV-28651B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span>so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"> </span><span class="text 1Cor-13-3" id="en-ESV-28652" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">3 </span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-ESV-28652C" data-link="(<a href="#cen-ESV-28652C" title="See cross-reference C">C</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span>If I give away all I have, and <span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-ESV-28652D" data-link="(<a href="#cen-ESV-28652D" title="See cross-reference D">D</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span>if I deliver up my body to be burned,<span class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-ESV-28652a" data-link="[<a href="#fen-ESV-28652a" title="See footnote a">a</a>]" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1+Corinthians+13&version=ESV#fen-ESV-28652a" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; color: #b34b2c; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: top;" title="See footnote a">a</a>]</span> but have not love, I gain nothing"</span></span><br />
<span class="text 1Cor-13-3" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">1 Corinthians 13:1-3</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="text 1Cor-13-3" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
<span class="text 1Cor-13-3" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">There is someone I don't want to pray for. I don't want to forgive them. I don't want their situation to get better. I want them to go away. Far, far away. I want them to leave my family alone. The mere thought of them angers me. This person is so selfish, deceitful, manipulative and abusive that they have almost succeeded in tearing my extended family apart. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="text 1Cor-13-3" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
<span class="text 1Cor-13-3" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">The amount of energy that we have expended on this person and their effect on us is astounding. God finally intervened and removed them from part of our lives, but they are still there. Knocking on the door and poking the wound. I don't even deal with them directly. I am way far down the line. Outside of a random crazy text message, they never contact me. However, I still get angry at them. I still want to see Karma serve them right. I want justice!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="text 1Cor-13-3" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;">God has been pushing me to pray for this person for over a year. Everytime I become angry or want to rant about them, He puts the verses above in my head. I can write the blog, I can spend time in devotions, I can journal and pray and go to church, but if I deny love then I am doing it all for naught. I don't want to love this person, and I don't think they deserve it. The problem is that I don't deserve God's love and forgiveness, but it is freely poured out on me. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">To help me, I have been reminded of this person's life. Their clear mental illness, their lack of family support, their overwhelming lack of self esteem and clear self loathing. Thoughts of how I would feel in their position have flooded my mind, and a desire to pray for them has bubbled up. Honestly, I have done all I can to resist it. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">I am not a very righteous person. I do not love easily, and forgiveness is harder. I am not even interested in it for the "let it go for yourself" vibe. I do not want to do this. To God, I must sound like my toddler "no, thank you. I will take all the parts of walking with you that I like, but I would like to skip this part. I don't want to love someone who received what I so desperately wanted and threw it away. I don't want to. I. Do. Not. Want. To."</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">Yet, I am. I am praying for them. I am attempting to love them. I am doing this despite the fact that I don't want to. I would love to tell you that when I decided to begin praying for them I was magically filled with peace and love and forgiveness, but I wasn't. I have to force myself. I have to ask God for help. I have to choose to obey what God is calling me to do. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">I am like Jonah in the whale. God was very clear about what Jonah needed to do, and Jonah was very clear about his not doing it. I think I have spent the past few weeks in the belly of the whale. It isn't always about large and amazing miracles. Sometimes it is about obedience and faith. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">I need to be obedient and treat all people with love. It is not my job to judge. It is not my job to determine who is and is not worthy of God's love. It is my job to be a living example of that love. It is my job to show my son how God's love is all forgiving. It is my job to have faith that God will help me love and forgive those who I find unloveable and unforgivable. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">Loving someone right where they are at is easy, if you like where they are, but when they are some place you detest, when their actions appall you, it can be impossible. However, all things are possible through Christ. I will keep praying, and maybe someday I will truly love them. Until then, I will be thankful that God doesn't hold me to the same standard I hold others to. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-71956952020287340572015-01-14T22:19:00.001-08:002015-01-14T22:19:19.819-08:00In a whisper Grief is strange. I am at a point where a week or two can pass with no aches or tears, but then out of nowhere a word, phrase, look, or innocent question-at times not even directed at me- can make the world stop and waves of sadness crash down. This can be so surprising that I struggle to not break down in a public setting.<br />
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I breathe deeply, fight back tears and pray. I pray hard. There are moments when I am not even sure what I am praying. My heart knows the words my mouth can't form. These moments of greif and helplessness are teaching me about faith.<br />
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They occur so suddenly, so randomly, that I often have no choice, but to rely on God to get me through the pain of the moment. Often a verse or a praise song will pop into my head, and it is always the perfect comfort.<br />
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I do not enjoy these moments of greif. I still, after exactly six months, want to have him here. There are still moments when I can't believe he is gone. I still long to hold him. I still hurt. The only way to survive is to accept these moments as a chance to grow in faith and be reminded of my Savior's perfect love.<br />
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The reminders don't come as loud proclamations, or mind blowing miracles. They are quietly whispered to a broken heart. Time and again, the Lord of all Creation leans down to tell me He loves me and will carry me.<br />
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My greif may never end, but neither does God's perfect love. By relying on that to survive, I will hopefully be able to reflect that love and help other hurting hearts. I Canthink of no better wat to honor my son then to continue to strive towards that goal.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-65474733051943846612015-01-04T20:43:00.001-08:002015-01-04T20:52:24.449-08:00Having it together<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have spend a chunk of the past few days watching Friends. I love Friends. Watching it has reminded me of several things; how glamorous it was in high school, how easy it was to relate to in college and how little of life I still have figured out. That is the appeal of the show. These six 20 somethings live a glamorous life and attempt to "get it together". Twenty years ago, I would watch and imagine how I would have it together. I would review my life plan and smugly check boxes. I knew where I was a going.<br />
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Ten years ago I was coming out of three years of working nothing jobs and trying to decide what I wanted to be. I was applying to Masters programs, Justin and I were finally moving towards something serious and I was happy to have a semblance of a plan.<br />
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Now, I am married, teaching, a mother and at the age where I have to dye my hair to cover the gray, but I still have yet to get a solid plan. I have attempted plans. I had beautiful ones. A year ago, I was one month from discovering I was pregnant with our second child. One month from feeling that our family would be completed. One month from feeling as if the perfect plan was unfolding in front of me.<br />
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That plan didn't work. None of my plans have worked. Whether I am 16, 26 or 36, my plans don't work. In spite of my anxiety, my deep discussions, my research, my imaginings, my reading intos, my goal setting, my plans don't work. I do not have it together. 16 year old me thought she did, 26 year old me thought everyone else but her did, 36 year old me is happy to raise my hand and say I am winging it.<br />
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I don't want it to seem that I am irresponsible. I do plan schedules, college tuition, retirement, life insurance and other big deal things. Justin and I have certain life goals, but as for where our family will be next year, well I would say we are winging it. I am happy to stay in my job, my house and my friend group. It is a pretty great life. However, I also long to stay home with my little man. The hardest part of going back to work is leaving him. I have a great job, but 100 14 year olds are not Harrison. Staying home would be a great life too.<br />
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I don't know if we will have other children, or how they will come to our family. I don't know if it will be time for Justin to consider administration, or continue teaching. I don't know what my job will look like. 16 year old me would be shocked at how much I don't know.<br />
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God has spent this break helping me see that it is ok not to have it together, because He does. He knows where we are going. He knows what will happen. It may be no change, it may be small change and it may be a big change. I don't know. Psalm 27:14 says "Wait patiently for the Lord. Be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the Lord."<br />
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The words "wait" and "patiently" are my mortal enemies. I don't do either thing well, so I am asking God to do it for me. To help me learn the discipline that is required to stop planning and start living His plan. This is big, because it means that I have stop focusing on me and my wants. My focus has to shift to God. He even comes before my wants for my husband and son. That is hard.<br />
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This break, I have wrestled with God. Big things were pulled out and shown to me. Large arguments occurred and I did not want to submit. I didn't want to say that I may not know what is best for me. I don't want to say that, but by slowly submitting and learning to put myself second, I am seeing that my anxiety and stress level is greatly reduced. I still struggle. The thought of waiting patiently FREAKS me out, and I am scared that in two weeks I will have to go through all of this again. I am a slow learner.<br />
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Are you a planner? Or did you once have a plan? Is it getting between you and God? Are there things you desire that are creating a road block in your spiritual growth? Are you in the midst of a wrestling match? 16, 26, 36, 46, 56, 66, 76 or 86, we are all winging it. Join me in working on waiting patiently. I could use the encouragement and would love to encourage you.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-33242851286137294272014-12-24T23:10:00.001-08:002014-12-24T23:10:19.656-08:00I don't understand, but I will follow. This story came to me at church tonight. I couldn't help but wonder what happened to the shepherds. What did they expect? How did they respond to this news? What did it feel like to wait so long? It is my poor attempt to ponder these questions and align them with some of my own lessons from this past year.<br />
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He stood on the edge of the hill unsure if he should stay or go. They said the man was going to be here today, and he wanted to know if he was right. He wanted to see him up close. The wind was picking up and the skies were darkening, his bones hurt. A lifetime of watching sheep had left him with twisted and aching joints. Slowly he began the final leg of the climb. The crowd was large and raucous, screaming insults and making jokes. Beyond their heads, he could make out the bottom of the trees and the feet of those who hung on them.<br />
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Pausing to catch his breath, he noticed a small group gathered under one of the trees. Unlike the rest of the crowd, they were not participating in the morbid celebration. They were grieving. Tears streamed down their faces as they held one another and cried. A woman leaned against a man who looked to be her son, and though three decades had passed, he recognized her. If she was here, then what he had heard must be true. The man on the tree above her must be her son. He would stay and wait for tree to do it's gruesome job.<br />
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Shifting through the crowd, he was finally able to see the three men fully. Naked and bloody, they hung spread out on the tree. Nails had been driven into their hands and feet, but the one in the middle also wore a crown. A fellow bystander explained it was made of thorns and complemented the "King of the Jews" sign above his head. "Does he call himself that?" asked the man. The bystander shrugged unsure. "I saw him enter the city like a king," he said "and he certainly has been parading around as if he was." Nodding, the old man turned his gaze back to the dying man.<br />
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His face was swollen and bruised, clearly the guards had enjoyed beating him, and even if it wasn't there was no way he would recognize a man he had last seen as a baby. A gasping noise came from what must have been the dying man's mouth. He was speaking to the young man and woman below him. Then it must be. He must be the man, the baby who was born with such promise and was now dying on a tree like a common criminal.<br />
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Now that he knew, the old shepherd turned and began to make his way down the hill. He was foolish to have come, foolish to have held on to the old dream. Decades ago, he had been a shepherd. Twelve years old and sold to master to pay his families debt, he worked non stop living with the sheep and two other slaves. That night, they settled on a hill outside of Bethlehem. While one of them kept watch, he and another slept. Then there was a bright light rousing him, a chorus of angels singing to him and fearsome angel telling them to go and find the baby. They did. Leaving their flock they ran through the streets searching until they found him. He was in an old run down manager, surrounded by animals and cradled in his exhausted mother's arms. They worshiped the baby. Declared him the Messiah and sang praise and blessing on him and his family.<br />
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Then it was back to the sheep, but everything felt better, brighter, blessed. He had seen the Messiah, God in flesh. He, a lowly slave, a shepherd had been permitted to worship at the feet of God. For days, he waited for the change. He expected armies of angels to come and defeat the Romans. Perhaps it would be like Jericho and walls would fall, or an angel with a flaming sword would come and smite the Romans and return Israel to the Jews.<br />
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Other shepherds did not understand what the three of them had seen. They mocked them and soon he stopped talking about it. No walls fell, no angels with flaming swords came, nothing important happened at all. Years passed and he married. His wife gave birth to a son, but he was killed by Herod's men. Herod had heard that a baby who would grow up to be the king of the Jews had been born, and he wasn't taking any chances. The shepherd's wife never recovered. She sat wept day and night. There were no more children. No other miracles. She wasted away and died. It was then that he realized what a fool he had been.<br />
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A few years ago, rumors had begun. There was a man from Nazareth who was preaching strange things. People flocked to see him perform miracles and listen to him explain the kingdom of God. The shepherd wondered if perhaps the miracle was just delayed. The age would be right. Perhaps the end of this Roman rule was at hand.<br />
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He heard that they arrested the Nazarene and sentenced him to death. Though he was too old, he decided to go and see for himself. If he recognized the mother and the Romans killed her son, then he would know that the miracle wasn't coming. That the angel had lied and he had been foolish.<br />
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Half-way down the hill, the sky went black and the earth began to quake. Falling to the ground, the old man heard angels. They weren't singing, they were weeping. The baby, whose feet he had kissed, must have perished, the miracle he had hoped for was gone.<br />
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He lay there waiting for the light to return. Other people stumbled about and the crowd had gone silent. Another hand touched his and he turned his head. There stood the angel he had seen so long ago. "The miracle has come, do not lose hope." and with that the angel was gone. Tears came as the old shepherd struggled to understand. Rome was still in power, the baby was dead, how could the miracle have come? It was impossible to believe. <br />
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Rising from the ground he clutched his staff and stiffly continued his walk down the hill. Could he believe in this kind of miracle? He was not a wise man. He was an old shepherd. Everyone knew God would never speak to him. Wasn't that what they had said decades ago? "Why would angels come to lowly shepherd and not the high priest? You are less than then nothing, God would never choose you to worship at his feet." Over time, he had believed them, but now. Now the angel had come twice. It was the same one, he was sure. Was it possible that God would speak to him? He was now an old shepherd, too twisted and bent to stay with the sheep. He slept in a shack on the edge of town. He had no family, no friends. He would certainly die alone, Why would God speak to him?<br />
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What if God had spoken to him? What if an old lonely shepherd had garnered the attention of the Almighty? What if he was aware of something others weren't? What if the miracle was something he didn't understand? "God", he cried out, "I am an old shepherd who is worth nothing, but twice you have sent and angel to speak to me. I waited for you to save me. I waited for a miracle and nothing came. My son was murdered and my wife died. I have nothing. I am nothing. No one will believe me. I have fought to not believe this for a long time, but I have no energy left. I don't know why you sent the angel to me, and I don't understand this miracle, but I will choose to believe and, like the day I ran through the streets of Bethlehem, I will choose to follow. "<br />
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Arriving home, the old man went about his life. He foraged for food, cared for lambs to ill to move and continued to pray "I don't understand, but I will choose to follow."<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-16739485889664590912014-12-16T21:28:00.000-08:002014-12-16T21:28:08.170-08:00I am a failureI fail at most things I try, or at least I believe I will fail at most things I try so I try not to try things. Failure is not something I cope well with, and yet I frequently feel as if I am in the midst of it. Theater training is good for these situations. If you fail on stage, you have to keep going. No matter what you must push on. I am good at keeping on. I am not good at reflecting or changing or facing stuff.<br />
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This feeling of failure has been closing in around me for the past two weeks. Its gnarly hands are pulling me down into a mire of despair and self loathing. It is common for me to feel anxiety around the holidays. Too many strange and lonely Christmases and too much lack of normal can make it difficult to discern what a "family" does on Christmas. I tend to push, and plan and overload. Christmas must be perfect. I must make up for all the years it was just my Mom and I, or, actually worse, when my Dad was there and we all felt uncomfortable and awkward.<br />
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2014 feels a bit worse. My failures are larger and more prominent. My body has failed me, my iron count is low and I magically didn't conceive a child as soon as I was cleared to start trying. I failed to grow and deliver a healthy child, which is sort of my main biological purpose, so that sucks. I didn't give my husband a second son, or my son a little brother. I couldn't prevent my unborn son from developing a horrible disease that took his skull and his brain. I failed to protect him.<br />
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I have failed my Mom. She has had to care for me more than I have cared for her in the last six months. She is always there, and I have been a bit drifty. A bit lost and not the adult dependable daughter I should be. I am a moody wife. I have good days and bad days. I don't always support my husband as I should. I fail to be kind and am instead spouting anger. Instead of be loving, I can be nitpicky and shrewish. Not at all the wife I picture myself being.<br />
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I fail my son. I am not always present. Sometimes I want to run and hide. His major tantrums freak me out. I think I can be too hard sometimes, but other times I feel too soft. I don't read enough to him. I should do more projects with him. His diet is spotty and mainly consists of applesauce, yogurt and granola bars. I don't know how to get him to eat other food. I don't always give him the one on one time he deserves. I let him cry himself to sleep, and instead of finding a way to stay home with him I leave him at daycare for 40 hours a week.<br />
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I am not the teacher I once was. I don't lead like I did. My desire to go out there and do it isn't the same. Papers take longer to grade. For time, I assign paragraphs instead of essays. I am not pushing to be in front and leading. My desire to be on top of it all has faded. Now I just want to figure it out.<br />
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I could go on. Finances, figure, hair, possible early skin cancer on my nose. I am not a model of anything. I am barely holding it together. Often, I am not holding it together at all. I am simply staying afloat. I fail all the time, and I hate myself for it. It sucks.<br />
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This is the mantra that has been running through my head the past few weeks. There was a point when I thought about how I must have deserved to lose my baby. It must have been God punishing for choices in my past. He must want to punish me. He must see what a failure I am. How could he not? He knows the parts of me I hide. My ugliest truths.<br />
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During the past two weeks, I have been doing a devotional series that focuses on the genealogy of Jesus. Those who worked together to make God into flesh. Normally I ignore these charts, but as I learned the stories of the names listed I began to understand that we are all failures.<br />
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Jesus came from the tribe of Judah. Judah was the brother who came up with the idea to sell his brother Joseph to the Ismaelites. He willingly sold his brother into slavery. After this, he married a pagan woman and two of three sons died. He sent his sons widow back home and didn't honor his duties towards her. He willingly slept with a prostitute who turned out to be his forgotten daughter in law. It is from this interaction that line of Jesus begins. Not a very auspicious beginning. There is a whole lot failure in there.<br />
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Rahab is included in the line as well. Another prostitute, she saved the Israelite spies in the city of Jericho. As a reward for her faith, her family is saved and she eventually married an Israelite. Their son was Boaz who marries Ruth. They had Obed, who had Jesse, who had David the second King of Israel. David was a "man of God", but he was also an adulterer and a murderer. I can see some tinge of failure in his story.<br />
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God uses failure. Failure highlights His glory. There were other choices, men and women who weren't failing at such an epic level, but by using people who failed God's love is able to shine brighter. Jesus didn't come from a line of perfection. He came from a line of failure that was made perfect by His sacrifice. His lack of failure redeemed all of our failures.<br />
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This is a deep concept, and I have a hard time with it. It is much easier to believe that God keeps count and is ready to dish out retribution. Believing that there is certain amount of failure allowed before God is done with you is a very human impulse. We want to equate God to our small perspectives. That is how we feel about failure, so why wouldn't He?<br />
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My son fails. He has bad days and makes poor choices. He tries to kick the ball and misses, or can't remember what number comes after 18. He gets time outs and has to apologize to those he hurt. Everyday he fails, and everyday I forget the failures from the day before and never stop loving him. When he fails, I don't remind of him of all the other failures, but instead tell him to keep trying. We sing the Daniel Tiger song, "keep trying you'll get be-et-ter". I am rooting for him to overcome his failures, and I want him to know that my love surpasses all of it.<br />
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If I am capable of offering my son this kind of love, then why am I limiting God's ability to love me to a greater extent? God is love. All He wants to do is love me. No matter how many times I fail and fall. No matter how often I have to turn to Him and pray for a fresh start. No matter the number of times I just can't get it together. No matter what, His love for me stays constant. When He looks at me, he doesn't see my failure. He sees my perfect self made whole through the blood of Christ.<br />
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I need to stop counting my failures. This is really a lack of faith. Who am I to say that my failure and sin is too big for Christ to take away? Who am I to limit the love of God who sent His son to serve as a sacrifice for me? Who am I assume that I know God's plan? If I was God, I would let me rot. I wouldn't pick me for anything useful. Luckily, that isn't my job. My job is to "keep trying you'll get be-et-er". Right now that is a daily goal. Please pray for me and let me know how I can pray for you.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-1774036934478351492014-12-07T00:12:00.003-08:002014-12-07T00:12:50.044-08:00Moments of LossTonight, I cried in front of our tree. My Father in Law makes special ornaments with your name in gold letters. Receiving one is a sign that you are family. Last summer he presented us with Theodore's ornament. It was first on the tree tonight, and I cried in Justin's arms after placing it.<br />
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It hurt, but it also made him real. When you never hold your child and lose them, it can be hard to see them as real. I am thankful to my Father in Law for this precious gift of bring my son close. Even though Teddy is gone, he still choose to be his Grandpa. This blessed Justin and I with the ability to include both our sons in the holiday. We don't often get to act like we have two sons.<br />
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Tonight, I sat by the Christmas tree and mourned my baby. I am crying now. This is what loss is like now, it comes in small moments. God is doing big things in these moments. He is showing me how much He loves me, and reminding me that I am called to love. The best way to honor my son is by choosing love.<br />
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I believe that we will be called to lovingly parent more children. I know that God has moved mountains to allow love and healing fill our extended family. I continue to have faith that God's love is all I need. Tonight I cried, but in that moment I was comforted. I am not alone, and no matter how large my greif is, God's love is bigger.<br />
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Whatever your moments are about, His love is bigger. He can do great things in when we are not able to do them ourselves. I don't know what the plan is, but I can't wait to see itUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-54699821070824831552014-12-02T21:01:00.001-08:002014-12-02T21:04:38.194-08:00Pondering Mary's PainI have been thinking about Mary a lot the past few days. First I am obsessed with this song<br />
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Secondly, I am participating in a Road to Christmas bible study and have spent my mornings pondering her calling. Today's commentary pointed out that Mary was most likely 14 or 15 when she became pregnant with Jesus. She was the age of my students.<br />
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My idiotic, naive, think they are mature, controlled by hormones, just figuring stuff out students. Now I recognize that culturally she was raised to be married at 14. That life expectancy was lower, and there was no concept of a "teen". However, to be a virgin who is carrying the Messiah at 14 or 15 is a tall order.<br />
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She was a child and she would have had to face questions from everyone. The bible never tells us how her parents react. Did they scream and yell? Tell her she was crazy? Accuse her of being something she wasn't? Was she threatened?<br />
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Her community would have whispered about her. According to Jewish law, she could have been stoned. Imagine how it felt to go and get water from the well, or attempt to say hello to people you had grown up. Did she lose friends?<br />
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Finally, she had to go to Joseph, her betrothed, and tell him what happened. We know that he doubted her, but felt sorry for her. He was older than her, though there is debate about how much older, and he discovered her pregnancy after she had been away visiting her cousin Elisabeth. He wanted to find a way to end the betrothal, but not get her stoned. Mary must have sensed this, or maybe he told her. How terrifying.<br />
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If he broke of the engagement, no other man would marry her. She would be alone. Did she lay in bed and cry? Wondering why God had asked this of her? Did she feel weak and lost? Did she question her own sanity?<br />
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God intercedes and sends an angel to assure Joseph of the validity of Mary's story. They marry and soon head off to Bethlehem. We hear little to nothing of their marriage after the birth of Christ. We know there were other children, and that Mary kept her knowledge of Christ's status as the Messiah to herself. When Jesus is crucified, Joseph is already gone, and Jesus must ask his disciple John to care for his mother.<br />
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She must have been alone a lot. How do you make close friends when you are raising the savior? How do you discuss your fears with others? When she cuddled toddler Jesus, did she fear what would happen? Or, in the rush of parenting so many young children, did she mildly forget only to be astoundingly reminded when he disappeared on trip to the temple?<br />
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Finally, as she stood at the foot of the cross and watched her son in agony, did she see the newborn she fed? Or the toddler who laughed and ran to her? Did she imagine her young son bringing her flowers? Or recall how big his feet were at that awkward stage? How did she stand there? I have been overwhelmed by the loss of a son not yet in my arms, how did she survive the agony of watching her firstborn slowly be tortured to death?<br />
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For the rest of us, her story is a story of joy. We see the beginning and the end, and celebrate it. However, I can't help but think that living it was hard. She didn't know he would rise again. She didn't know he was dying to save the whole world. She didn't know that by dying he was paying a debt that she owed.<br />
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She must have cried out to God the Father multiple times. She must have raged, begged, and sobbed. She must have asked why God picked her. She must have felt betrayed. She must have wondered what the point of her suffering the scorn of the virgin birth was. She must have felt like she had died too.<br />
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I don't know what Mary's discussions with God were, or how He assured her of His love. Her pain blessed all of us. Her suffering helped our redemption. The loss of her son, her baby, saved the world. A regular girl, in a small town, young and of no importance, was chosen for an impossible task. Because she was willing, because she had faith, because she believed, the world was saved.<br />
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I hope to have a teeny bit of that kind of faith.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-75853142345307127142014-12-01T01:28:00.000-08:002014-12-01T01:28:17.690-08:00Here we areNothing says anxiety like being awake at 1 in the morning. Here I am. I don't even know why. Well, I have some ideas. On my mantle there is a heart shaped reminder of my little man, and tonight I am a sad that he isn't here for the holidays.<br />
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It is strange how grief comes and goes. I am healing. The pounding pain of heartache has faded. I am at a point where the possibility of other children is something I can consider. I can feel happy for those who are expecting. I am part of the world again.<br />
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Unless, well, unless I am doing my job and the travesties of selfish parents who throw away their children are before me. Unless, I am worrying about children who will forever be effected by a parent who is not safe for them to be with. Unless, I am confronted with the sad truth that some people are not sane enough to have children. Then I struggle.<br />
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One, I am a child of someone who made all of these choices. I know what abandonment feels like. Little me cried out wondering why her Daddy wasn't there. I am aware of what it means to have a selfish parent whose reality is warped and concept of the truth is every changing. Even now, at 36, there are moments when I wish my Dad was a healthy normal man who could be here. Part of you never figures it out.<br />
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Two, I firmly believe that every child deserves love, safety and support. Yes, my Dad wasn't there, but my Mom was. My Grandparents were. I was unaware of so much, because they chose to shelter me. My basic needs were met. I was allowed to be a child. Every kid deserves that.<br />
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I am wrestling with God about this. Why He allows this to happen? Why does He allow a society that values the lives a vapid celebrities over the lives of its children? How can he claim to be about love and let these things happen?<br />
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I am not a perfect mother. I lose my temper. My frustrations show. I turn on the TV more than I should, and am not always "present". Oh, but I love my little boy. His very presence brings me joy. Even when I am my wits end and he is crying it out in his room, I am thankful for him. I pray for him, I cook for him, I clean for him, I work to provide for him, most of our decisions are hinged on what is best for him.<br />
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Even with Teddy, our one directive to doctors was to do what was best for him. What would keep him from pain, and give him a death of dignity and peace was always the correct path to choose. So, why? Why do others get to be parents and I lost my child? Why are others allowed to hurt their children? How can this be a good plan?<br />
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Here we are. I have a choice. Be bitter and keep questioning, or give praise and keep praying. As I say to my 8th graders, fair is not equal and what you need is not the same as what they need. Parenting is hard. You can't give your child everything they want. Harry would eat popcorn all day and night. Yet, I know that will end badly for him. I know he needs a balanced diet to grow and be ready for the future. I don't like seeing him cry, but if I give him all he wants he will be unprepared for life.<br />
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God is doing the same thing to me. Shaping and preparing me for what is ahead. He isn't giving me what I want when I want it, and I am crying. I am the two year old. Faith is trusting that He knows that I will move past this stage. I don't want to remain a spiritual toddler. I want to grow in His love and His peace.<br />
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This means I have to acknowledge my pain and frustration and express the desires of my heart, but it also means that if those desires are never fulfilled, I will be content and grateful. That I will let go of my desires and begin to seek God's desire for me. Clearly, He has put children on my heart. How can I show love to the unloved? How can help those who feel abandoned? How can I ensure that my home and classroom are centers of generosity, compassion, and peace?<br />
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You see, I am still wrestling. However, I recognize that God's decisions are about what is best for me. Everything He does in my life is about that. It isn't about what I think is best, or how I don't understand His plan. It is about obedience. It is about listening. It is about stillness. It is about growing up.<br />
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"Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added unto you." I am still working on seeking Him first. Putting Him before everything else. Being willing to move forward and listen, follow and obey. This is hard. Pray for me. I will pray for you.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8373241688125659101.post-14543291386513291972014-11-10T21:19:00.001-08:002014-11-10T21:19:20.714-08:00Why happiness scares meOn Saturday I had a moment where I felt truly content and happy. It was a sunny day, we went to the park, had a lovely dinner and I felt good. It was a type of happiness that I hadn't felt since Teddy died. As soon as I felt it, I begin to panic. If I felt this happy, then something awful was waiting.<br />
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The last time I felt that good, was a sunny spring day. I had coffee with my Mom, planned the nursery, and Justin and I headed to the doctor. As we waited for the doctor, we planned out how to announce what the gender of our baby was. How we would paint Harrison's hands and have him hold them up to the camera. We discussed a summer that would be spent creating a nursery and how we would manage raising two boys. The world felt perfect, and then it fell apart.<br />
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I don't trust happiness anymore. That is what I learned on Saturday. Happiness leads to fear. I actually wondered how I would be punished for feeling happy. What bad thing would happen? My counselor and I have chatted about this before. How it is normal, and a form or PTSD. How it will ease over time. How my anxiety disorder amplifies it, and how it will eventually ease.<br />
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This fear eats at me. It gnaws at my ability to sleep, and adds to my list of faults. I am scared of life. Anxious about the future. Drugs help, sleep helps, talking helps, prayer helps, but it doesn't go away. Sometimes, I think this must mean my faith is too small. My belief too weak, my heart to hard. How can I claim to have faith in God and be so scared? If I believe that God has a plan, why do I fear moments when I feel content in that plan? Why I am so weak and my faith so small?<br />
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I am human. I am weak. I am scared. I am anxious, and overwhelmed. Life hasn't been smooth and easy. Happiness is scary. Bad things happen, but that doesn't mean I don't have faith. I have faith that I won't always feel this way. I have faith that God will help. I have support, and I will find a way to trust in happiness again.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0