Anxiety

Here's a fact. A few months ago someone in a position to know such things informed me I struggle with debilitating anxiety. I was confused. I had no idea what he was talking about. I said something like, "No, people with anxiety are more like ____. They freeze up and can't do things they need to do because they're too scared or worried." The man looked at me and said I was wrong, and that anxiety can look a lot of different ways. Like a woman who appears, from the outside, exceedingly competent and confident and strong and brave. Someone who is often told she must be a saint or a superhero, or that other people don't know how she 'does it'. He told me, rather more firmly than was typical for his personality, that just because all of my worry is self-directed or internalized does not mean it is not anxiety. I was still confused. I knew that no one else who knows me would say something like this, but since this guy is our marriage counselor I figured I should at least think about it.

A little while after that I watched a ted talk by Glennon of momastery.com. In the video she discussed being hospitalized as a teenager for her bulimia and how even though she spent two weeks in an adult mental health hospital with schizophrenics and people with violent behavior tendencies she felt much safer than in her high school. She said the other patients said things that made sense and she never felt afraid of them, but her classmates at school made her frightened or worried every day. Her words made me begin to understand.

As a young child I spent a fair amount of time around my father's friends from AA. I remember all of them, and their wives, as kind, lovely people around whom I always felt comfortable. Their expectations for my behavior were easy for me to comprehend. Those men from the AA meetings at the catholic parish in our town were dear to me. Even now, after probably 30 years, if I run into someone close to Dad from back then they are kind and sweet and I feel safe. I understand the unspoken rules of social engagement for recovering addicts, and even for practicing ones. I know what to say and what they expect from me. I don't worry how they see me or if I'm doing something wrong. After the words of our counselor and the video, I realized that's the only place in my life I remember feeling that way. Ever.

I always assumed anxiety was about worrying and being paralyzed by fear of making mistakes. I'm not paralyzed. I daily carry out the necessary tasks and functions for my life. I feed and dress and parent my kids and talk to my husband. I eat and sleep and shower and I go to the places I've committed to going. I just live under the basic assumption 99% of my choices and actions are wrong. I don't worry about it, I just accept it as fact. It's as unalterable as the sunrise. I don't fear mistakes, because it is a given I will make them steadily from when I wake up until I go to sleep. Even sleeping isn't safe, because it's likely I've either gone to bed too early when I should have stayed up and cleaned something or spent time with my husband or I've stayed up too late which will make me grumpy and short tempered tomorrow. My life is blanketed in the constant snowfall of self-criticism. It has always been this way, and it never occurred to me until recently that this is not how everyone lives. It's a bizarre inversion of perfectionism, with equally crippling results. If all my choices are almost inevitable wrong, why bother changing anything that isn't working for me. At least this particular version of wrong is familiar. New choices only mean new means of failing, and that possibility truly is paralyzing. Constant, incessant failure that crushes my soul I can handle. Risking failure people might actually see? Not so much.

Like all of my epiphanies, I have no cures or easy fixes or ideas on how to change it. It seems I tend to live by the old GI Joe slogan "knowing is half the battle," from the 80s cartoon. Hopefully that's true because I am much more than halfway tired of all this emotional slogging.

I guess we'll just have to see what being more aware does for helping me work through it. I wish I had something more uplifting to say today.

Follow up to the world in my head

I wrote this shortly after my last post, but wanted to "tweak" it before I posted it. Clearly by tweak I mean ignore it totally for months. Re-reading it today reminded me of something I need to hear right now; my biggest enemy in my journey toward joy is me. Not my husband or our kids or the evening news or whatever other struggles exist in my life and the world. Just me. And my tendency to assume all the things are my fault. Just all of them, no matter how large or small or how closely or distantly related to my daily life; clearly I am responsible. The original post, sans-tweaking starts below:
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There are so many things about life on this planet we live on that are just hard. Unfair. Unjust. Wrong. So very many ills and tragedies and not quite rights to be found in every direction it seems. I get down-hearted about them all way too often. I let the darkness crowd out all the light and good that exists here too. I allow people who seek to harm, or create disharmony, or just plain start a fight for no purpose choke out the voices of those who wish to heal and love and bring peace and grace and light. Like a broken record--an idiom which is apparently out of date but I cannot bring myself to say 'like a dvd on repeat' instead--I repeat the angry, mean, hateful messages I've heard and it wears on me until I feel frayed and tattered. So much darkness and hate.

But what if I tried to live outside those shadows? What if instead of giving in to fear I lived bravely? What if I acted from a place of love and grace and courage each day? With my kids? My husband? How would my life look different if I was bold enough to love freely and without embarassment over whether I'd look silly or people would think I'm crazy or even (big gasp of anxiety here) disagree with my choices? What if it didn't matter to me anymore whether the cashier in the grocery store thinks I'm a good mother and my children are well behaved because I actually BELIEVED THOSE THINGS ABOUT MYSELF? What then?

Right now in my life the person most in need of hearing truth spoken in love is me. From myself to me. Lost? That's okay, I am too in many ways. Basically, I am learning that most of the lies and unhealthy voices pressuring me to make choices that won't help me grow or change or step out in faith these days are all coming from me. I have somehow managed to pick up a host of bad habits, unkind judgements, and just plain nasty untruths about me and my place in the world. These are what play on repeat inside my mind all day. So my tough truths all need to be full of a love big enough that it speaks loudly enough to be heard over a din of lies I've created all on my own.

So what to do with this little epiphany? Clue zero. Seriously.

Well when all else fails keep it simple right? So I will aim for just seeking the truth about me. Listening to what God says about his kids, and what people who love me say about me. And then reminding myself of those truths as often as necessary until they stick, and eventually drown out the chorus of ick I've been letting call the shots for so long.

Apparently, loving myself as God created me will require speaking truth to myself. Crazy huh?
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Part of drowning out the negative for me seems like it may need involve some length of time where I simply avoid all blogs, books, social media, or tv and just focus on prayer and scripture and probably journalling. I'm still not completely sure how that will look or if I will actually do it but I'll try to update here once I know. Because this blog sort of counts as journalling right?

The World in my head

Today while driving back from visiting a friend a thought came into my head randomly.  
"The hardest truths should be spoken with the greatest love." 
I don't remember if this thought was related to anything specific in my mind at that moment but the sentence stayed with me and I wanted to write it down before I forgot it. I think this little nugget is a cornerstone of the things I have been trying to sort through in my head lately; the many many thoughts and feelings and dreams and plans and needs that make up my life right now. I have been feeling anxious and quite out of balance about it all the last few months to be honest, and it has not been pleasant.

So then this sentence appears, like a little gift to me. Apropos of pretty much nothing in my beat up mini van as I drove, I found myself thinking about love and truth and how what we need in this world is more love, in order to earn the right to speak truth.

I think for me this just means that when I start to feel inadequate and sub-par and as though I could never begin to meet all the expectations placed on me or measure up to the mothering blogs and the pinterest decors and the parenting books, that is when I need to stop. Full stop. Then think carefully about who I am listening to for my messages of worth and belonging. If someone's pinterest page or shared article on facebook or blog post is making me feel like crap on toast perhaps the problem is not--in my case--so much that those people are right and I'm coming up short. Perhaps--and again I emphasize this is about me and my journey and not whether someone else is right or wrong--right now what I need to decide is whether all those well meaning parenting book authors and bloggers and facebook friends have earned the right to speak into the deepest places of my life. More often than not, the answer is no. Besides which, probably most of those people are not intending to speak to me specifically and individually anyway. I have never read any publication which starts with: "Kate, I thought of you and only you the entire time I was writing this piece. Please pay attention and adjust your heart, life and attitude accordingly."

So maybe, just maybe, I need to pay more attention to those folks who actually know me on a personal level and care about my health and well-being. People who have demonstrated over time their love for me and a commitment to my good. And then I must filter all the messages I hear each day about my life choices, my mothering and my housekeeping through a lens that first checks for whether it comes from a source of deep love and grace for me personally. If so, then I should listen well and weigh their words and decide how to apply their advice. But if not? If it's just some random parenting "expert" or magazine ad making me feel like a failure at life then it is definitely time to close my eyes and ears and go find a better use for my soul's attention. 

This may sound simple and obvious to some people, but for me it is a pretty big deal. I'll have to work hard at this practice to make it stick.

More Questions than answers

My kids are determined to claim my intention, despite tons of one on one time with each of them this week, despite an entire family day yesterday and an outing this morning, despite Daddy being home and in the next room and more than willing and capable to help with anything they need. They just want Mommy. It is driving me insane to be honest, but I am even more determined to sit here and write for 5 minutes if it kills me.

I have been feeling what I can only call a divine push to write lately, but write differently than I have historically written here. I don't know what that means for this site, or for any other venues I may explore. I just know I NEED to write. I have a lot of thoughts and hopes and dreams and questions about how that will look and I am wrestling through all of those things and that is why I haven't been writing much.

I also have an intense, driving desire to simplify pretty much everything in my life as soon as humanly possible. I want fewer possessions, fewer events on our calendar, and fewer distractions from my big priorities in life. (God, Bob, kids are top 3) I want space and time to think through things and make good choices that reflect my values. I want room in my brain to consider new ideas and pray and try to change the things in my life that need changing. I want time to bake more and improve my sewing skills and maybe do a few projects around our house. I want to bike and walk by myself more often and soak up the peace that provides.

I want to actually live like I believe what I claim to believe, and I have no idea how. But I am going to keep trying because I am certain it will be worth it.

That is all for today.

Keep Trying

I've started 3 different posts in the last week or so and all of them have languished in my drafts bin, unfinished. And not very good. There has been quite a bit going on around here and I cannot seem to weave all little strings of thought and scraps of emotion into some sort of cohesive mental fabric. It frustrates me, these unsuccessful attempts.

I still can't quite find the the thread of what I want to say exactly, so this will be short. Mostly I just want to remind myself to be writing, and to keep trying even when it seems too hard. Writing is like life that way I guess.

On being awkward

She stood in front of me in the freezing snow, brushing off her car and telling me wonderfully kind things about the deepest parts of myself. She said most of them more than once while I stood there, awkward and uncertain. At a loss for the appropriate response to such thoughtful, sincere compliments. This particular friend is, and has always been, more than willing to be gracious in the face of my numerous quirks and awkward edges. As I drove home I rolled her words around my skull and wondered what on earth it is about a sincere compliment to my character (most especially an accurate one) that leaves me so flummoxed. I can say with both truth and frustration that unexpected kindess, both in word and deed, is more likely to unravel my few social graces than any harsh comment or rude act. My ability to accept or brush off unkindness is well developed. But a pure, unsolicited compliment? What am I supposed to do in response?

My choir teacher in high school drilled us repeatedly on smiling and saying thank you when someone gave positive feedback to a performance. "I don't want to hear any of you spouting off about the kid next to you screwing up when someone says well done. Say thank you. It's the polite, appropriate thing to say. Just thank you. And smile. I mean it!!!" She was a wonderful woman and a good teacher. I try to follow her advice in the broader spectrum of my life but when someone actually mentions anything to do with deep, heart level traits I freeze up. I don't know why.

Except that is probably a lie. I do know why but it scrapes my soul to say it. I freeze because it happens so rarely. Historically, I can think of very few compliments in this category being given. And all those I do remember came from the wrong people. Not wrong because there was anything wrong with them, just wrong because they were not the people I wanted to hear say such things. Not my parents or my brothers. Not the people I should have been able to count on to name those things in me, to help me nurture those places inside that were most me. They loved me, and I knew it. They still do. But they didn't say what I needed to hear, needed to know they saw. To know they noticed, paid attention. My brother did once, when I was in my late 20s, in an offhand sort of way at a family event. I was so shocked I didn't even insult him for it. "She doesn't even realize what makes her so rare. What she has that makes her so great." Considering this came from the same sibling who made large segments of my life an emotional hell I found it . . . startling. 6 years later I'm still startled. And if I mentioned it to him he'd be horrendously embarassed and blow me off entirely. It's how we roll in our little tribe.

****When I read this through again I realized I am giving the impression no kind words were ever said to me--that isn't true at all. I heard lots of praise for things I did well, or performed above expectation. It's just that they always seem to be comments about things I did, rather than who I was as a person.*****

So I'll keep trying to remember to say thank you and mean it and smile. Keep it simple, because it is easier to remember that way. And more than likely I'll freeze up again anyway the next time it happens. And I'll remember, always, that even when I feel most alone and unworthy there is a God who sees me and walks with me. And He has given me a an additional family who DO see me. The real me. And they don't even mock me for it. And I am so thankful.

Learning Things Backwards

So yesterday I read this quote:

"Good is Jesus and His backwards, upside-down ways."~Jen Hatmaker's blog, March 18, 2013

And now I will tell you why it is a balm to my heart right now.
Lately I have been discovering new things about myself. New things about how I see the world; how I interact with my family and even myself; many many new things. Until fairly recently I would have said I was a remarkably self-aware person and while I'm not necessarily wrong about that, I'm learning I still have a long way to travel. Which is good and sort of exciting--if a long, arduous, uncertain journey with no discernible destination can be called exciting--and also scary and frustrating.

Need an example? I have always struggled with how certain things about me just don't "fit in". Anywhere I go, no matter what, there are some things in my soul I just can't quite get to match the world around me. Sometimes I am a trapezoid peg trying to sink into a decidedly triangular hole. Not square and round, those are to easily adjusted for. Other days I just feel like a baloney sandwich at a black tie dinner. Neither the trapezoid nor the baloney sandwich are bad or wrong--they're just not in the "right" environment. In my family of origin I am too "happy" to truly feel at ease. I just live my life from a totally different center than they do and it makes it hard to connect. Again, they are not wrong or bad or even deliberately exclusive. They just see the world from a different side of their hearts and the distance between us can seem insurmountable. My faith gives me a hope they just don't seem to trust is real; it can make me appear 'other' despite our many shared memories and common struggles. On the other hand in my faith community I just so often feel less-than. Less stable. Less together. Less biblically informed. Less able to understand and maintain the mundane things of life. Less theologically mature or sound. Less fashionable. Less gifted. Less intentional. Less faithful. Just less. I recognize these things are all both untrue and unjust when directed at others, because in reality it is just how I see myself. My church family is truly one of the most loving, giving, wonderful groups of people I have ever known. They love me, and us, wholly and well. When we let them. Which I think Bob & I often don't. Sigh.

Also, the more I delve into some of my inner turmoils (can one pluralize turmoil? whatever, I did.) the more I am uncovering that I have learned so very many things backwards from other people. In this regard I truly am "different" than most people. Just last night during a meeting someone mentioned that our group had been handling disagreements so lovingly and well and how it was helping her feel less stressed about reaching our goals as a group.  She ended with something like "I just don't like conflict, so this has been good for me." My first thought was "Eureka!!! I finally understand why our meetings wear me out so much!! Healthy, loving conflict is just exhausting to me."
Why? It is profoundly against Every. Single. Thing. I have ever been taught about how a conflict works. I have absolutely no ability to auto-pilot or instinctively navigate a disagreement amongst a loving group more focused on kind treatment of those with whom I disagree than on winning. Yes I just said winning even though I know conflicts are supposed to be resolved, not won. You see the problem? Give me a shouting, belligerent, irrational, possibly drunk adversary whose only desire is to see me submit to their "right-ness" and I can crush you like a bug. Got a snide, snarky, passive aggressive, conflict avoidant foe who'll agree to your face and then turn around and do exactly as they please the minute your back is turned? Bring it. I can smack that sh*t down no problem.
But ask me to engage in a Christ-like exchange of differing views and opinions with an end goal of reaching consensus in love and true understanding and I am lost. I am ill at ease and adrift in a sea of inappropriate responses. I have definitely grown in this area over the years and can even occasionally formulate appropriate replies without having to filter too much. But usually I have to really dig deep in my mind and shovel multiple piles of sarcastic, belittling, not at all helpful or good words out of the way first. It is so tiring. Worth it, but just tiring.

In a similar way, I am a person often mentally and emotionally paralyzed by the mundane. Especially if it is something mundane that is meant to be accomplished via internal motivation rather than an outside stimulus or expectation. Crisis though? THAT I can do. Give me an unexpected family issue or semi-emergency and I'm on it. Friends in need? Got it covered. Temporary time of strenuous work or emotional output? I'm your girl. Daily, grinding, on-going "regular" issues? Nope. Can't get a handle on it to save my life. Thus I feel more than able to help a friend in struggle, or function at a somewhat normal level in an emergency, but I cannot find a way to keep my bathroom clean or teach my children to do chores. When there is "nothing going on" in our life I am finding that is when I am most likely to find organizing my house or sticking to a cleaning routine to be insurmountable tasks. Now that is not to say I suddenly keep a neat home when things get crazy. It only means at those times I am able to prioritize tasks and mostly I ignore anything unpleasant or not absolutely necessary. So I'll do the dishes, because otherwise we'll run out of forks, but I probably won't have cleaned my toilet in weeks and I won't care. It is an ongoing issue with no easy solution.

Based on conversations with friends and loved ones, I know these are unusual. I'm mostly ok with being unusual, but then sometimes it starts to wear on me. Living a life of constantly, unendingly, ALWAYS being the odd one out is depressing sometimes.
So when I read Jen's wonderfully encouraging words yesterday it was like a a fresh breeze on a hot still day. If Jesus was backward, then maybe I can find my way after all. Maybe there IS a purpose to all this messy growth I'm experiencing. Maybe some day I will look back and be able to clearly see how all this was exactly what I needed in order to serve God and help others. I'm writing it down just in case.

To make me feel loved. . . .

Last night during a conversation Bob told me: "I think you're brilliant. You're analytical and creative in a way no one else is and I like that. I like the things you think about the world and how we live and why some things should change. You notice things other people don't notice. It's good."

It was part of a larger discussion that was less than ideal as far as smooth communication is concerned, and to hear it in that moment was a true gift. He's a wonderful man--always--and yet he still manages to surprise me. To truly see me. To love me well even when I often don't give him credit for it.

I feel loved. And I intend to enjoy it.

Being New is exhausting

So that last post it was cathartic and all, but boy what a bummer to read! I couldn't stand it being the first post I see here anymore! So here's a lighter note for today.

First of all, right now in the state where I was born it is bitterly, horrendously cold! Some of my relatives haven't even seen 0 degrees in a few days--as in it hasn't been warm enough to reach 0!!! Brrrrrr!! I remember that awful, freeze your throat and your snot the minute you breathe outside cold and I do NOT miss it. And yes, if you must know, it is part of why Bob and I don't ever really consider moving back. I hate plugging in my car, or worse yet waking up in the middle of the night to start it and let it run so the battery doesn't freeze. I hate wearing 3 or 4 layers of clothes plus coats, hats, mittens, boots and a scarf and STILL BEING COLD. I hate when even opening your door to get the mail will make your furnace go on from the cold. I just don't enjoy it. So I am incredibly thankful today to live somewhere more temperate. Today the kids & I will be meeting some friends at a park for a play date and it will be lovely and sunny and they will run and play and get tired and dirty outside like kids should do. Hurray for the ability to be outside without getting frostbite!

Second, lately Bob and I have both been working hard on ourselves. By which I mean we have been putting in a lot of effort at changing some things that have needed changing for awhile. Miraculously, it has actually been working--a little at least--and we're seeing some improvements in our ability to handle things that would previously have really messed us up. This is wonderful news and a bit exhilarating; it is also so tiring I think I could sleep for a month. Not the normal daily tired of life as we know it, but a different, more sleep inducing tired. We fall in bed at night and are just done. We both know it is because we are doing hard, important, necessary work. We are glad we are finally able to address some things we've each needed to deal with and have put off until now. We are also sleepy. And a little frustrated we don't make faster progress (Well, I know I am. I probably should speak for Bob. Can you tell impatience is 1 of our shortcomings?). I always thought breaking free of my unhealthy behaviors would be exciting and freeing--and I can see that it will be eventually. Right now though, it is just plum exhausting. Who knew becoming a new Me would wear me out so much? Whew. Must nap. (Not really, but I do have to go.)

So that is what we're doing around here lately. You?

A Formative Part of My Journey

****Warning, this will not be a particularly cheery post. It's about death mostly. You've been warned.
My life has been shaped by death from the beginning. The week before I was born my aunt Bobbie--my mother's oldest sister--died after a long battle with breast cancer. She left behind 6 children. My family travelled a long distance to the town she lived in for the wake and funeral, and then when they came home Mom went into labor. I know my birth, though it brought her great and true joy, is also mixed up with her grief over losing her sister. I'm not sure it can be categorized as an auspicious start.
During a conversation with some friends yesterday I started thinking. I'm not sure why, but it seems I have been exposed to more death and loss than many people my age in this country and I wanted to write about it. I'm going to start with a depressing list, and see where it leads me. It is by no means exhaustive, as I am going to try to stick with events about which I have strong memories and emotions.

• When I was 8 there was a boy in my class named Chaz. He was incredibly tall--5'2" and very kind. I didn't know him well but a close family friend was very close friends with him so we played together occasionally. That summer he was hit by a car and killed in a family member's yard (his family member, not mine). It was a pretty big deal in our little town and my friend J--his close friend--was deeply grieved. This is my first clear memory of loss, though I know I lost several extended family members prior to this time. 
• When I was 12 my friend J(the same J as above) lost his mother, Eve, to a rare blood disorder. I don't really know what to say about it all, except that I can remember J didn't cry, and verbally expressed his refusal to do so. My mother and brother K were both very distraught on his behalf and the extremity of their grief frightened me. I specifically chose not to attend the funeral because my Dad couldn't come and I was afraid I wouldn't know what to do to comfort them. 
• When I was about 13, Brenda, the girl who lived at the end of our road was killed in a horrific car crash right in front of her house. Her car was struck by an oncoming semi and caught fire. Our house was more than a mile away over hilly, wooded land. Despite the distance and terrain we could see the flames from our yard. Her father and several neighbors saw it happen, but were powerless to reach her because of the fire. I remember it was so crowded that 2 of my brothers and I had to sit in the basement of the church for the funeral while our parents were upstairs with my youngest brother K because he was a pall bearer. He was 16. I remember sitting in a room full of my future high school teachers, again unsure of the proper response to so many authority figures in my life all weeping together. The spanish teacher told me I was very strong because I ended up sitting at a separate table from my brothers by myself and didn't fall apart. Brenda was about 17. I don't think I have ever seen her mother ever since without seeing her cry.
• 2 years later 2 boys from my high school died in a car wreck caused by their own drunk driving. Tom & John were popular, kind, funny, and talented. The week of their funerals my brother K also refused to cry. I remember seeing probably half our school sobbing into his shoulders for days. One night he couldn't bear it any more and wept almost hysterically for what seemed like hours. My Dad sat with him the whole time holding him and speaking calmly in a low voice, like he'd done when K was small and had nightmares or fever-induced hallucinations. At that point in time K and Dad could barely stand to spend 5 minutes in the same room without having a shouting match. But not that night. 
• At least 4 other kids died in our small town during my middle and high school years. 2 of cancer, 1 of a heart defect, 1 in another car accident. I think I'm forgetting someone, but none of them were people I was particularly close to; I list them because I've been told this is a high number of child deaths for 1 community. I also know numerous other family members passed on during this time, most notably my maternal grandmother and 2 of my great aunts who I dearly loved. But I remember their wakes and funerals being very different than those of my friends and classmates. Grandma and Aunt Virgie and Aunt Marie were old, and had been sick for extended periods of time. Their deaths seemed more "natural" to me, and less scary. 

• In college a friend committed suicide. He was a beautiful young man. H was strong, funny, compelling in a strange way I cannot describe but everyone who met him understood. He was also secretly struggling with depression of some kind. What I remember most about losing H is that there were times I'd noticed he seemed "off" or lonely and I never said anything. H claimed he didn't believe in God and hated church, and he was really really "cool". He was also my boyfriend's best friend. I didn't want to embarass myself reaching out to him. Even when I was sure God wanted me to do it. I was too scared of what he might think of me. He died shortly after the boyfriend and I broke up and it was all just really painful and tragic. I've tried to never forget my horror at never knowing if my obedience to God's prompting might have helped him. It keeps me honest.

• When I was 24 my husband showed up at my job unexpectedly one Friday morning. He told me my oldest brother B had just called to tell him my Dad died. I've written about that other places, and I don't think I can do so again just now. But it shaped me. 

*******Sidebar. At this point in the post I've had to take a break from weepy remembering to deal with Pixie wetting Kid's bed during her nap and Sunshine somehow getting poop on her arm during her post nap diaper change. The juxtaposition of these events with my emotional state is so absurd, I had to include them****

I'm not sure what the purpose of this post was, or is, even should be; but I do know these people and the loss of each of them has shaped my life and how I see the world. And after reading this post about one of the Connecticut shooting victims and his mother, I wanted to be sure I made a point to stop and remember. I've never lost a full term, outside my womb child and I hope I won't. But as a mother, I stand with Noah's mother and promise to remember that everyone was once someone's little boy or girl. And to hide from the pain and awful-ness may do them and me a disservice.

And I will offer this list, as complete as I can make it, of those I've lost and won't forget.
Chaz, Eve, Grandma Hadley, Virg, Marie, Cousin John, Cousin Dennis, Jim L, Jim M, Anne, Mary Catherine, Leona, Stephen, Margaret, Brenda, Tom, John, Heather, Tony, Kevin, Tammy, Elna, Carl, Craig, Hans, Marv, Wyburn, Robbie, Rich, Dale, Kenneth, Mary, Rachel, Maurice, Margaret H, Mira, Declan, & Paul.

I will remember you. Always.

Not much to say

I honestly don't have much to write today, but I just feel compelled to post something. I am trying this year to pay more attention to the little internal nudges and pokes I feel sometimes, and doing something about them instead of brushing them off. I feel as though it helps me stay more centered, more in touch with what my heart actually wants rather than what I feel pressured to accomplish. So I am writing on my blog, even though there are floors to sweep and laundry to fold and some projects I should finish soon.

And yes, I realize I have posted in the past about my tendency toward laziness and this may seem like an excuse to cultivate a poor habit. Maybe it is, but I don't think so this time. The last several months I have been weaning myself off a fairly serious tv addiction, and off aimless web surfing just to kill time. I've actually done quite well at it and I'm proud of myself. :) At first it just seemed like I was bored more often or did a better job of engaging with my kids. And those are ok--I'm a firm believer that a little boredom helps kickstart the creative parts of our brains and thus serves a purpose--but lately I've just noticed that my mind feels less crowded. Less hectic and over-full of pointless noise. I'm an introvert with a predisposition to introspection, so the inside of my head often feels noisy and chaotic to me. Which I suppose may sound weird, but whatever I'm weird. Get used to it.

Anyway, all this selective deprivation has left me much more room to breathe emotionally and mentally and I LOVE it! I feel so much less like my brain will explode, so much less like hiding from my life on the days things are crazy(which is pretty often with 4 kids). It just feels nice to not be in a constant state of frenzied anxiety over my inability to process all the input i was receiving each day. A lot of evenings, Bob and I just sit in our living room and chat while I fold laundry, or even just sit. Or he reads on his ipad while I read a book. It's quiet and relaxing and I savor the feeling of cozy, contented evenings with no useless noise.

And less useless noise means I more often have time and space to hear the still, small voice inside me that prompts me to reach out to others, or to pray or serve or just care for those I love better. I notice more when my kids behaviors may need deeper examination than it seems at first glance; I can keep my cool when they test me and give them a firm, loving, gentle response instead of shouting; I remember to hug them often and compliment them on their positive qualities, not just correct the negatives; I think I love my husband better too and see him more clearly for who God made him. Overall I like it and I plan to keep it up.

So in summary, our parents were right and tv does rot my brain. Who knew? :)

A New Year

It is 2013. I am still surprised how quickly time flies amidst the goings and doings and daily tasks that are life with 4 kids. Yet this year and I am glad to start anew. 2012 was a long year. Very long. Not always in a bad way either; many of the struggles which hung on my soul like a weight last January are only a distant memory and I am very thankful for it. Bob, the kids and I just spent nearly 14 days all together as a family and we had a wonderful time. We saw some relatives I never see enough, and enjoyed every minute. He went back to work today and even though it is sad, a return to our more normal schedule is due and will benefit us all.

However, so much of 2012 was spent processing heartbreak and change and conquering the fears that overwhelm when tragedy and evil attack. I live in Colorado and I love it here; but it was a tough year for our state and nothing can change that. There were terrible fires all summer. The Aurora shooting. More fires. The election cycle--which seemed unending. Jessica Ridgeway. Several other horrendously violent crimes in our neighborhood and city during the fall. And then Sandy Hook. It didn't happen here but it hit me hard and made year end celebrating bittersweet to say the least. So I am not sad the year is over and we can begin again. I know how badly we all need it.

Last year I chose a word for my year. A word to encourage and challenge me and help me focus on moving forward rather than dwelling on struggles or sadness or the past. My word for 2012 was Healing and it was perfect. I needed to spend time allowing the Great Physician access to my deep wounds and let Him bring light and health to so many things. And He did, because He is good and loves me. I am grateful for a year to recuperate and grow new things in my life. To choose life and light and forgiveness and grace. To Heal. I needed it. And I truly feel different this year. Last January I could never have imagined looking forward with such hope and joy to what life may have in store for me. I just couldn't have envisioned a heart like this inside me. But now I have it and I need to put it to good use.

So this year I will choose a new word. Well a phrase really, because when I thought it over what kept coming up was how thankful I am for being awakened to the joy in my life. And my need for gratitude and joy in every single piece of my life. Even (especially?) the dark, difficult, painful pieces. My phrase for 2013 is GRATEFUL JOY. I hope to live in grateful joy each day regardless of circumstance, trial, or struggle. I will be thankful and seek joy. Always. And if I fail I will get up and choose it again the next minute and the next and the one after that until it is more of a habit and less of a choice. I am excited to see what this year may bring. What life, what light, what new adventures and experiences.

May your year begin with joy, love and hope.

Today I have no words

All I can find to say has been said before--by Jeremiah, and quoted on another blog which brought it to my eyes.

"My eyes fail from weeping, I am in torment within; my heart is poured out on the ground because my people are destroyed, because children and infants faint in the streets of the city."
Lamentations 2:11.

How fitting. I am in torment within. I am in anguish for families torn apart by violence and tragedy. For mothers and fathers and siblings and teachers and neighbors who no longer have "as usual" in their life lexicon. I have no healing words today--or yesterday, or since I heard about Sandy Hook. I only have tears. And hope that tomorrow will be less awful. And hope that somehow, someday, Jesus will make sense of all of this horror. For all of us.

My heart is poured out on the ground. May the giver of all life return it to me, once again able to live in hope and peace. May He do this for us all.

Thank God!!!

Elections are over, the votes (mostly) counted and we are done! I am so very thankful I cannot express it in words. Picture happy dances and sighs of relief. So let's all move on to real life again shall we?

Ok, first of all lately I have been reading a lot of books that are turning my heart and parts of my theology upside down. It isn't entirely pleasant--really, who loves emotional turmoil--but it IS good. There are just so many things that I'm finding new perspective on these days and I love it. Things I might have seen as colossal problems now seem less so, or even inconsequential; things that may have pushed me toward discouragement and despair no longer do (most of the time, I'm still human). The whole process to bring me to this time of re-evaluating big pieces of my life has been a long time coming. A very long time. It gives me hope my journey isn't quite as direction challenged as I thought. To fully explore the many avenues this is taking in my life will require multiple posts so I am keeping it fairly general right now. Suffice it to say I'm taking a long hard look at where I have been placing my heart and my trust, and whether those places are the right ones.

Related to this is my previously mentioned frustration with the election cycle and all things political. There are just so many things we as Americans should be paying more attention to in my opinion. Our whole society right now seems to be centered not around what is right or decent or good for all people, but what is easiest and most comfortable for us as Americans. I feel as though we are--collectively as a culture so I fully include myself in this--just saying to the world we do not care 1 iota about your life and death struggles, your desperate attempts to stay alive and feed your children and perhaps find work. 27 million people, largely women and children, trapped in slavery? Oh, that's not our problem, who cares? Is what our actions indicate our response to be. 26,000 people dying daily around the globe purely from starvation and easily treated diseases? Bahh, no biggie we say. But which guy wins the presidency will surely bring about either the end of the world or heaven on earth, depending on your point of view. One friend of mine even suggested instigating a new civil war over the results of yesterday's elections. Wow. Great enthusiasm and passion and all my friend, but since you claim Christ you're striking me as misguided. Possibly even insane. We are so much concerned with how our lives of abundance and complacency and constant, compulsive, unending consumption and materialism can be maintained and never disturbed in any way we've lost sight of what is true and right. It saddens me and makes me disgusted with myself and the country as a whole, and angers me too. 

But since it is not within my power to upend the focus of the American consumption culture I will simply continue to read, and pray, and figure out what I can do to change my own life in order to help more people who truly need it. And I will pray extra for my angry heart to soften toward all those who seem apathetic to these issues, and the many other overlooked injustices on God's heart. I will start today.

On Politics and Religion

This will not be a post telling you what to think and how to vote!

Ok, just a short note to say a few important things. First, may I just say that while I wholeheartedly support democracy and elections and the freedom we enjoy in that process in this country, I hate political campaigns with a fiery passion? There is a depth of loathing in my soul I cannot adequately convey. All the nasty, mud-slinging, name-calling, polarizing, posturing just makes me crazy! By the time we hit October--especially in a presidential election year--I am ready to simply abdicate my rights as a citizen and hide under a rock on voting day. I won't actually do that but you get the idea right? Just once, I'd like the candidates to make clear, non-ambiguous statements about their beliefs regarding government and its role in our society. No wishy-washy mealy mouthed half opinions that can be spun 14 ways depending on the audience. No avoiding the issue by pointing the finger at the opponent's lack of humanity. Just "This is what I think and this is why and if you don't like it, please vote for the other guy." And then guess what? maybe all of us could get a clear idea of what they stand for, and what they stand against, and just maybe we could vote with a clearer conscience this year. I'm not a person who votes based on party lines or on only 1 or 2 "BIG" issues. I try to get a picture of the kind of person I'm electing, and whether I feel I can trust that person to make decisions they feel best serve our country and our needs. I couldn't care less which party supports them and I couldn't care less what religious beliefs they hold, if I feel they are a person of integrity and honesty. A person who will stand up for all citizens, not just those with money to throw around. Who will fight hard for what the believe is right, even if it costs them votes or points in the polls. Who just once, admits the "other side" might have a point on an issue. Pretty please candidates?

Secondary to all that is this: nothing is more likely to make me re-think my friendship with someone than their making any kind of "if you're a Christian you must vote ___" statement. My faith informs my choices, and that's good and right but that in no way means I believe my choices will be the same as yours. I'm fairly certain that if God can create a large and varied world and 7 billion unique people then he can totally handle differing opinions amongst his people. How about we all just realize Christ died for ALL, to save ALL and make ALL things new and leave it at that? God reveals himself to us in different ways based on who He created us to be, not based on how we vote or how loudly we denounce another group's stance. I mean, seriously as brothers and sisters in 1 body could we not just get along a little? I'm over it folks. Over. It. So please, let's all just vote and agree that it is the participation that is important for fulfilling our responsibilities as citizens not the specific side we take. This has the added benefit of allowing us to remain friends and co-workers and etc even if we don't vote the same way, which makes me happy, and life less stressful.

That is all for today.

Ok the thing is:

Here's the scoop folks, and it isn't all that pretty. It may get long though. I am not a self starter. I have no intrinsic self discipline. If I am standing in my living room and the dishes are done, no one is hungry, the laundry is in a manageable state (it is NEVER done, so I no longer worry) and my bathroom does not present a health hazard I will simply not think to myself "I should vacuum, while I have a minute." It will not occur to me. Or if it does it will be followed immediately by "I'll get on that as soon as I eat/check facebook/email/sit for a minute." And then 30 mins later the window has closed, and I no longer have time to vacuum. Spontaneous chore initiation is not my gifting. I am not one of those uber productive women who homeschools 6 kids, shops thrift stores to plan ahead for a future need, then comes home to can 27 jars of tomatoes from my enormous, well tended garden. (See owlhaven.net for proof such a woman exists.) I'm just not. I'd like to be, because it seems like she gets more done.

I have been examining this trait in myself lately and found very little that is useful for changing it. It isn't that I'm not a hard worker--I actually love working hard at a satisfying task. It isn't even that I'm super dis-organized, because I have a few skills in that area; I do keep 4 children under 8 fed, clothed, reasonably clean, and usually know where to find the oh-so important thing they've just lost. I can be lazy, but honestly I think I'm mostly more tired. Last weekend while with 2 amazing friends for a weekend getaway I did some sobering math that still has my mind reeling. I may have said this before, so bear with me if you're bored ok? I have a point I promise. Anyway, I figured out that between when Kid was conceived in April of 2004 and Sunshine was born in April of 2011 I had 6 pregnancies, gave birth 4 separate times, and breastfed all 4 of those kids for at least 8 months. If I add the months I nursed Sunshine we hit December of 2011. Add that up I dare you. Not a mathematics fan? Ok, let me help you. 2004-2011=7 years. 7 years=84 months. Plus 8 months nursing Sunshine =92 months. 4 full term pregnancies + 2 miscarriages in first trimester = 44 months pregnant. I nursed my kids for 10.5, 10, 9.5 & 8 months respectively. 10.5+11+9.5+8=39 months breastfeeding. Can you see where this is going? This means that of 92 previous consecutive months leading up to 2012, I was either pregnant or nursing 83 months!!!! Can we just all soak that in a bit? Momma is TIRED!

My body was not 1 of those "oooh I just loooooove being pregnant and I feel great!" bodies. It hated me, and it wasn't at all sure it like the baby either. I always knew I was pregnant because I started feeling like I was about to come down with the flu; only I'd get morning sickness instead. I felt borderline flu-like throughout all my pregnancies, and obviously didn't get much sleep what with the bladder issues and etc. Also? My kids are not the kind of kids who sleep well--or late. Maybe we are just terrible sleep trainers, maybe they are just hyper like Bob & I, maybe there are gnomes in their closets whispering "wake up wake up, sleep is for the weak!" I don't know. I do know not 1 of them ever slept through the night before 8 months, and Boy held out for 13 months. And for him, once he slept 'all night' meant he woke up at 4:30am. EVERY. DAY. For 8 or 9 months.

Needless to say, I started this year worn out. Little by little I am feeling more able to cope, more able to feel hopeful and energetic and like I can face life and maybe even accomplish things. I rest a lot. I think that is a healthy, useful, acceptable way to spend a good portion of my free time. But this is America folks, and when I look around I just don't see people or places that value healthy, useful ways to spend my time. I see ads for places to go and things to do and "experiences you don't want to miss!" I see kids in school for 7 hours and then in activities for 3 or 4 more hours 5 days a week and several hours more on weekends. And parents who work crazy hours and then stay up all night hand sewing halloween costumes because "crafting is fun". Don't get me wrong, I love watching Kid play soccer, and I do actually enjoy crafty projects. But you know what? I also enjoy sleep. Sleep is God's way of restoring our bodies to balance and health. It keeps us strong and able to think clearly. And I can promise you I do not think clearly if I stay up past 10. 9 or 9:30 would be better, but 10 is the cutoff. When I read that I feel a little old. And a little like I am surely missing out on whatever it is I used to do at night before I had kids.

So how does all this relate to the first paragraph? Well, I am trying to find a way to help my non self-starting self to be more proactive, even it is only with housework. I have been really beating myself up the last few years over how much I don't accomplish in comparison to other people I know, or see on blogs or whatnot. And while it's true I have a lot of room to grow as far as setting achievable goals for keeping the wheels on this crazy little life of ours, I've come to realize 1 other important truth. This season of tiny children and their hundreds of thousands of needs is no walk in the park. I may shake my head at strangers in Target who consistently say "you sure have your hands full!" because I think they're ridiculous but guess what? I do, in fact, have both hands very very full. And I like it. I admit I don't enjoy parts of this journey that are mandatory if I am going to stay home with my children. I loathe laundry and I despise dishes and I can't stand cooking while people hang on my legs and whine. But I DO like raising my kids myself, and not stuffing them into day care. I DO like spending time with all of them each day and knowing what is going on in their heads and lives. I DO like that they know I'll be around.

So I guess I have to find the delicate balance between the reality of my physically labor intensive stage of life and wanting to feel like I've accomplished a concrete task or 2 each day. Anyone have any ideas? All 3 of my readers feel free to comment! :)

Whirlwinds and Illness

First, foremost and always, may I say God is faithful? Thank you. I'll repeat it so it appears without a question mark. God is faithful. And good. And Brooklyn is alive, reasonably well, and has been so miraculously healed that she was released from the London hospital where she eventually arrived and she and her wonderful family returned to our city to finish her recovery. It may take several months before everything is stable enough to even consider their return to Sierra Leone, but she is ALIVE!!!! And she will be at church with us this Sunday. Where my eldest son will undoubtedly make inappropriate exclamations over the number of stitches in her arm. (One of her complications involved an incision the entire length of 1 arm to relieve swelling)

September passed in a tornado of prayer for our sweet girl and her family and we wouldn't have it any other way. Our little faith family really pulls out all the stops when it comes to loving on those of us in crisis and the enormity of Brookie's needs only made that trait shine. Our pastor flew to London on less than 12 hours notice, stayed a week to care and pray and just pour out all the love we feel for them and then came home and preached a sermon about what God taught him while he was away. All of us are just so thankful and relieved and giddy and amazed and generally in awe of all the ways God moved and the miracles he did to save her. I cannot express my joy for her mother, my friend who was at the point of despair when I first posted about their circumstances. It is all just so very very good. We revel in the goodness still, and I think that may go on awhile so forgive me if you get sick of hearing about it. We like revelry when there is such cause as this ok?

October has snuck in with a houseful of sick children which is disappointing but not shocking. Bob was superdad all weekend while I enjoyed a perfect getaway with 2 dear friends. I flew on a plane without children. I ate warm food someone else cooked without once wiping a chin, cutting someone's meat or getting up to fetch condiments napkins or more water for tiny hands. I slept straight through 2 nights in a row folks!!! It was a glimpse of heaven.

Unfortunately for Bob, Boy, Pixie and Sunshine were all sick for at least part of that time. Poor Boy is still miserable and coughing and sad and tired. And has to miss the most important field trip of the year at school tomorrow because he is just too sick. Sunshine got better for a bit but is now fretful and snotty and overtired again which is no fun either. Pixie ran a high fever most of last week and now seems to have generalized her symptoms to pure grumpy impossible-ness with an occasional temperature spike thrown in for good measure. Last night my flight arrived late, and thus I wasn't home until after midnight. Boy and Pixie were both awake, waiting for me. In their beds and quiet, but still awake. And since Boy slept in our bed to keep him from waking Kid and Pixie with his horrendous coughing fits I did not sleep much last night. That is not a complaint, but a factual statement. In light of all that has happened with Brooklyn I have decided I will not complain about sick children this year. Because honestly, what right do I have? They may be sick and cranky and taking care of them may wear me out and frustrate me but guess what? My doctor is 15 minutes away, sees me whenever we need him, answers his cell phone even after hours and has been known to call in a prescription just based on a phone conversation. We have hospitals nearby with all the equipment and expertise I could ever hope for and insurance to pay for it. And no matter how exhausting it may be to care for them and keep the wheels on our daily life, it is beyond unlikely that I will at any point be told my only chance to save their life is to separate myself from them indefinitely and send them thousands of miles away immediately and hope it is soon enough to avert tragedy. That being the case I will simply buy another bottle of children's ibuprofen, hunker down and wait out the snot and the coughing and the grumpy toddler.

If you don't hear from me for a bit, it is doubtless due to the germs my offspring are sharing amongst themselves.

And

Brooklyn is 8. She is sweet and shy and quiet, but very bubbly once she decides you're ok to be around. She and her brother Sam are 2 of my very favorite kids in the whole world. Which is actually saying a lot because we know A LOT of kids. Right now she is going through things most adults could not handle, in a strange country with a strange language, with her amazing but completely exhausted Dad by her side and her mother 2 countries away. She has had IVs, transfusions, reactions, complications and more complications. People all over the world are praying for her and her family right now, and I know it is helping. They've seen miracles already in her care and their ability to get what she needs. Soon she will move to another hospital in yet another country, this one with wonderful care and even better her Mother and brother will join her there. She will even get to see our Pastor, who will arrive before her and prepare some things for the family's comfort. He's a deep well of love and concern and hard work all at once and I'm so glad we can send him.

And yet she is still so close to dying. Every little procedure that doesn't go smoothly; each hour she stays anemic or dehydrated or undernourished or her body is just overwhelmed. We are still begging the Great Physician to work miracle after miracle until it almost feels greedy. And because He loves us so fervently and purely, I trust and believe He will continue healing her. And yet I'm scared He may not. And frustrated to know she suffers so much, and her parents whom I love and admire suffer too. And I'm angry too, because why in the world would God call them so clearly to move to this place to do this work that so desperately needs doing, only to allow this horrible stage of their journey? Why? WHY? I don't understand it. I don't like it. I don't want to have keep waiting and weeping and waiting some more. I don't.

And then it hits me. I'm reminded and it brings comfort, albeit twisted backhand comfort. This is a broken, hurting world. And sweet Brooklyn and her family are just as subject to that brokenness and hurt as the rest of us. And none of it surprises God; he knows the hairs on her head and the freckles on her precious nose and the sparkle in her eye much better than we do. He knows what she needs and what her Daddy and her Mom need and what her tender-hearted brother needs too. HE knows. He has a plan and by His grace we'll see that plan unfold in ways none of us could imagine. So I breathe, and remind myself to be grateful for keeping her safe thus far instead of bitter she's on the journey at all. And I pray and join my friends in prayers and fasts and updates and more prayers all day and night. I think I have never in my life prayed this much for anyone, even myself. And I will not stop. Not until we hear she is healed, hydrated, happy and headed home. And just this once, I will lay my worries down at the foot of the cross with every prayer, with every breath and every step.

And it will all be enough for today. And tomorrow we'll do it again, because we love her so. And we know HE loves her so too.

Anger & Hope and everything in between

My dear friend's 8 year old daughter, Brooklyn, is currently in danger of dying from typhoid. They live in Sierra Leone, and her vaccine was apparently faulty because she got sick anyway. The update her Mom sent to our church this morning said her kidneys are shutting down so they're flying her to Ghana in the hopes of getting her stabilized and then moving her to London, but she added this sentence which has me praying and sobbing and angry and begging God to not let this come to be. "She's dying and won't make it." She had to write that about her precious little girl, less than 1 month after moving to a new country to help the fight against human trafficking. It is terrible.

I am heartbroken and just praying nonstop that God will intervene and miraculously heal her. It is all I can think about and I don't know what to do other than  pray and hold on to hope, especially since it sounds like her family cannot do that right now.

I have nothing else to say today.

I feel the need . . . the need for speed!

Name that movie.

Anyway, I feel the need to write but I have nothing to say. It's kind of funny actually, how often this happens to me. In the course of my day I am always thinking of things I want to blog about, or journal about or getting ideas for stories I could write; then something distracts me and when I actually sit down here to write I can't think of any of them.

The girls are resting and I checked a friends blog and she wrote the most beautiful post
about love and faith and how she wishes things could look different than they do now. I read it and thought "Yes! That is so true, that is exactly right, that is . . . what I wish I could write." Which made me realize something: I love to hear peoples' stories and thoughts much more than I love to write my own. I mean, I love to process things via writing and I do that a lot here, but what I REALLY REALLY love is listening to someone else. I love to hear the hearts of my friends and loved ones, and of those I only know from their blogs or some article a friend posts on facebook. I love to really listen and dig deep into what someone else has lovingly painstakingly written and just soak it all into my soul. I really really love it.

I wonder how I could do that more often? Is there a way to minister to others through listening--not like counselling, because that's not my strong suit--through just hearing what others have been through or are going through? Hmmm, I wonder.