Hurting Our Own

Christians are held to high standards when it comes to loving non-Christians.  As it should be.  The Bible states that the greatest commandment is love...God first and others as yourself (Mark 12:28-31).  We are to go out and tell the "Good News" (Mark 16:15). Win others with love so that they will come to church and, ultimately, accept Christ.  We don't want anyone to go to Hell.  So there is an urgency.  Do we always get it right?  Absolutely not.  I've heard countless stories of people being hurt by those who feel the need to judge instead of love. It's heartbreaking. If you are reading this and have been one of those condemned by Christians, I apologize.  We ALL are so flawed.  Incredibly messed up.  But, for Grace...none of us would even be here.  The church needs to work on loving, not hurting.  I get it.

What happens though inside the church?  What happens when Christians hurt other Christians?  This is not spoken about as much in churches across America.  People are silently hurting inside the building that they are supposed to be able to go to and seek refuge...solace from a crazy, chaotic world.  Join in "unity" with those of like-mind.  Fellowship.  Praise Jesus without inhibition.  Hear the Word come forth without wondering what those around them are thinking.

For every story I've heard of a non-Christian feeling judged by Christians, I've heard at least five more of Christians being hurt by Christians.   Maybe part of this is because I've been raised in church all my life.  Here I sit in my thirties wondering why is this considered to be OK?  Why is it OK for several members of the body of Christ to loudly proclaim to not hurt people "of the world" but stand silent when their own church members get hurt by their counterparts?  Yes, I know we are to "turn the other cheek" (Matthew 5:39). We should not allow "bitterness to take root" (Hebrews 12:15).  I've heard so many times, "Well, the Church is made of humans - all who are flawed - and we can't expect for it to be perfect."  Of course we can't.

Still, it's wrong.

Jared and I know people who have been so hurt by the church that they refuse to go back.  They would rather worship at home.  Worshipping at home is fine and necessary, but we wouldn't be told to not "forsake the assembly of others"(Hebrews 10:25) if that wasn't important.  We know people who are terrified of other Christians learning a family secret because they know they'll be judged...or their family member will be judged.  When you can't share with those you consider to be your friends out of fear of retribution, there is something seriously wrong. Stories of people who are just not nice.  Rotten, really.  They think it's OK to just say whatever they want because it's not like "Christians are perfect."  People who cry during a church service because they are feeling shunned by other Christians. People longing for real fellowship but being told that their Christian friends are just too busy.  People who are being criticized because they are voting for this one or that one or no one. People who hurt others all week, but smile on Sunday morning like they are the most God-fearing humans.  It disgusts me.

We can complain about America not being unified, but why should it be?  Yes, we should be one nation UNDER GOD, but we don't even act like we are one church UNDER GOD.  We're destroying our own.  We're fighting battles with this world and we're losing because we are wounding our own people.  We have people who are considering leaving their faith.  People who are beginning to question if God is really good because His people are so mean.  How can we bring the lost in if we are losing our own?

We can't.

Is this really how it should be?  Should we excuse our behavior under a blanket covering of Grace?  Should we act like a high-school with cliques based on social status, ethnicity, background?  Or should we hold ourselves to higher standards?  We have been changed by Christ who DIED for us.  Shouldn't we diligently seek Him to allow Him to change us and form us to be more like Him?

I will be the first to admit that I don't get it all right.  I mess up every single day.  I am as flawed of a Christian as the next.  Know that I point the finger to myself first.  And, really, that's the only place any of us should be pointing a finger...to ourself alone.  If we focus on God helping us with our own flaws, maybe we won't be so quick to point to others.  Maybe we will stop hurting and start healing.  Maybe we will become nicer.  Better people. Maybe we will begin to see others through His eyes and not through our own judgmental filters.  Maybe then the church can become a place of joy and solace for ALL...the lost and the un-lost.

Would that be so bad?

A couple disclaimers:  I know that not ALL people in the church act like the above.  There are so many kind people in the church.  If you have been questioning if you should attend a church, just go for it.  Most of the time, the good that comes from the experience, far outweighs the bad.  Also, when I refer to "the church" I am referring to the body of Christ as a whole...not a specific church.   If you are reading this and know me and think you know who I am referring to in any of this, you probably actually don't as all examples were generalized.  And, if I have ever hurt you in any way and haven't made it right, please reach out to me so that I can make it right...and also learn and grow.

Second "Birthday" in Heaven

Addi:  Mommy, I need you to text God.
Me:  Sweet Pea, I can't text God, but we can talk to Him whenever we want.
Addi:  No.  I need Him to tell Izzy something...

Izzy.  The baby we lost.  The baby who would be two sometime this week.  The baby who Jared and I think is a boy, but sweet girl is convinced is a girl...her only hope for a sister.  She named her Isabelle...Izzy for short.  She thinks about her a lot.  Tells her friends and strangers about her sister who is in Heaven.  Bless those precious strangers who listen intently and show compassion.  And bless those who quickly turn away, because responding to something like this is tough.

That sweet baby...12 weeks of life inside me was not enough.  But, there's our joyful Gideon...and he wouldn't be here if that baby was.  So, we question nothing.  We accept it all.  But, one doesn't replace the other and we sure do love and miss that little one.  Especially, this "birthday" week and that week in May when we joined a "tribe."  A huge group of people, far too many...mommies and daddies and siblings that will forever love someone in Heaven that they never even got to meet.

And, our girl...since she couldn't text God, she wrote a note to her sibling.  A note she is convinced God will share with that precious baby.

"Izzy, I hope you have a good life.  I love you very much.  Love, Addi."

I assured her that life is so great in Heaven.  And, that our baby knows we love her (or him).  She hugged me close, looked up and blew a kiss...first to her sibling and then to God.

Giving Thanks for Broccoli

"Mommy says we need to be thankful even for the things we don't like."  He proudly proclaims to everyone at the dinner table.

His words...my words...sting a bit.

"I said that?"

"Yes!"  That sweet boy of mine states before taking another bite of broccoli.

I get it.  He is giving thanks for the thing he doesn't like...the broccoli.  The little tree shaped veggie that is not always the yummiest, but is so good for him.

The conversation has moved on to the latest playground shenanigans, but those words stick with me..."Be thankful for even the things you don't like."

Truth is, that's hard.  Sometimes "broccoli" is hard to swallow.  Sometimes the things we face in life are just not fun.  Sometimes, what is good for us isn't the easiest to stomach.

Still, there must be thanksgiving.  It's in our thankfulness that we learn to appreciate the Giver.  As we thank Him, we learn more about Him.  We see His heart...His love.  His desire is to nourish us, strengthen us, grow us.  That means we don't always get dessert first, sometimes we must eat broccoli.

1 Thessalonians 5:18 - In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.

And, because he is cuter than brocolli...

Expressions of Love

"I love you Mommy" scribbled in big letters because everything that six-year-old girl does is big and bold.  A smaller expression of love written with less letters from the younger brother who is still learning how to spell "love"...and "you"...but he knows a heart and a "U" states his affirmation quite perfectly.

I always love this scavenger hunt.  It's a daily thing.  I tuck notes in their lunch boxes and they tuck notes in hidden places for me to discover throughout the day.  The result for us all is the same:  we are loved and we KNOW it.

It's easy to KNOW when the words are written for us to see, but what about the other times?  The times where sassiness prevails, listening is forgotten, harsh words spoken?  Do we still know?  When we are rushing here and there, when reading - so MUCH reading - needs to be finished, when dinner is burnt and bathtime is rushed?  Do we still know?

Absolutely.  We have tucked away love notes for years.  Written or just spoken.  Shown in flashy ways and unglamorous ways.  Daily moments that state the same thing...you are loved.  In this house, where mistakes abound, forgiveness is frequent, tears are shed, and laughter is daily...we still manage to do one thing really well (by the grace of God)...we love.  Love drives us when we drive each other crazy.  Love takes the wheel when we just want to take a nap.  Love shouts out "It will all be OK" when we only want to shout at each other.

We are loved.

While I know it through smiles on precious baby faces, hugs from little arms, and the way my husband checks in every day after work...I also know it through the times where we've all had to show true grit. Times where we've had to dig in our heels and fight.

I also know I am loved by God.  The Author of the best love letter ever written.  He put His words into action in the ultimate way, and, now in amazing ways daily.   The moments He has been there loudly and the ones where I can barely here Him whisper.  He daily hides his "notes" for me to find.  That chirping bird...that peanut-butter smeared handprint on the oven door...that encouraging song heard at just the right moment...that feeling of warmth from the sun...the tears of joy shed from overwhelming moments of gratitude...ALL love notes from my Father.

Those moments where the laundry mountain is taller than not only the 18-month-old, but also the five-year-old...the baby will not stop crying, the older two will not stop fighting, my husband and I are not "on the same page"...the unexpected expenses are piling up almost as fast as the dirty clothes...and the situation that I've so desperately wanted to change for the better has not changed a bit.  Even in those moments, His love shines through...if I will just stop and listen.

Sometimes, I want to ignore that still, small voice that tells me He loves me when He says, "Wait."  The One that convicts me when I'm wrong.  The One who refuses to write all letters in fanciful calligraphy, but sometimes writes them in a font I don't even like.  So, I ignore the notes.  Nope, not going to accept that one, God.  Write a different one and make it pretty with bright colors and glitter and all the things I like...not this ugly stuff.  Yet, He, knowing the "ugly" will produce something far more lovely than I can imagine, ignores my requests.

Can I really refuse to accept this letter?  Can I really tell Him to draw another and think it's OK?  Some of the notes written to me by little hands are handcrafted with the best handwriting, some written sloppily. I will never refuse one because they are all designed with love.

And, God?  His handprint of love is in all situations. So, this "letter" that I have been trying to return, the one I've been asking God to rewrite, the one that I've wanted to ignore because I think it's ugly...I cannot refuse it.  I will not refuse it. With open hands, I open my heart.  Write is as You wish, Lord...because it's all written with your perfect love.

"For everything God has created is good, and nothing is to be thrown away or refused..." 1 Timothy 4:4

If You Were Brown?

I place him in his crib for the second time tonight and I try to ignore the question that pops into my mind as I look at his innocent face.  I can't push it out, though and I understand that it needs to be pondered. So, I wonder...

If you were brown, sweet boy, would I even lay you down tonight?  Or, would I hold you close for fear of ever letting you go?

The city we love is in unrest.  The place where I birthed three beautiful children.  Three beautiful, amazing children.  Sweet babies who I have wondered so frequently about what their future may be like.  Will they want to travel the world?  Will they want to change the world?  Countless questions all with an undertone of hope and freedom.

If you were brown, sweet boy, would I be able to dream so freely?  

This world is scary for all mamas.  So much chaos.  So much turmoil.  So much anger.  I sometimes feel guilty for ever wanting to bring children into this madness.  But, still...

If you were brown, sweet boy, would the world be even scarier?

While blame is cast from both sides, angry words shouted, hearts broken, lives shattered...I struggle to find my place.  How do I help?  How do I show love to all? What can I do to let the police officers that live in my neighborhood know that we are behind them as well as the black neighbors that live in the same neighborhood?  How do I show friends of color that while I will never be able to understand their plight, I do want to try to understand better?  Will they even believe me?

He cries out again and I pick him up.  I hold him tight and pray.  A prayer for all the mamas holding babies tonight...whether physically in their arms or tightly in their hearts.  All the mamas who long for the same things I do:  safety, peace, the ability to dream and turn those dreams into reality.

I wipe tears.  Tears laced with pain for so many.  My child is white.  I cannot change that.  However, I can change the perception that this mama doesn't care. I will do my part to PROVE I care.  Sit on your couch and listen to your fears?  OK.  Hold your babies up in prayer?  No problem.  Hug your neck?  Absolutely.  Give a smile?  Always.

Call me naive, but I still believe that love can conquer much.  Christ's act of love changed the world.  The Bible says above all things, the greatest thing is love.  I know it to be true. Love has changed my life.

I lay my footed pajama clad boy back in his crib and smile.

If you were brown, sweet boy, would my love for you be any different? 

I smile because I know that answer.  Absolutely not.  And, as I quietly leave his room, I whisper him a promise...

Sweet boy, I will continue to teach you and your siblings to love fiercely.  To spread peace, not hate.  To share an encouraging smile, not a vulgar gesture.  To choose joy, not anger.  I will teach you this not through just words that don't demonstrate, but through actions that do.

1 Corinthians 13: 11-13
When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.  For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face.  Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known.  And now abide faith, hope, love these three; but the greatest of these is LOVE.

Oh, Rats!

I almost lost my mind over a mouse...well, two of them.  The amazing friend who valiantly moved our washer and dryer to make sure a mouse wasn't hiding behind them, watched our children while Jared and I cleaned out our garage, helped me haul sofas to the dump (because a mouse had hid in one), and fix a door that the horrible rodents had chewed a hole through, probably would tell you that I actually did lose my mind.  My husband - who was forced out of sleep multiple times a night by a jittery and anxious wife, who spent almost $100.00 on traps, who allowed me to schedule a rodent exterminator to come, and who even got a hotel room so that I could finally sleep - would agree.  My sister would concur, too as she listened to sometimes hourly updates of the whole sordid experience.  And, when I stop and think about how I spent time in an actual prayer service at our church praying over the stupid mouse situation...and even very sincerely asked friends to pray...yes, I guess I briefly did lose my mind.

Two weeks after the awful ordeal, I still shudder thinking about it all.  Every speck of black on our floors is a dropping...until I investigate further and realize it's actually lint.  Every noise I hear is another mouse trying to wreak havoc...except, the noises are just regular creaking noises that are in every single house in the world. There are still traps in the now very organized garage, just in case any relatives decide to come looking for the family members we killed. I smiled as I typed that we killed them.  I am a mouse murderer and I'm not even remorseful.  Sorry, PETA.

 It started off innocently enough.  Dropping sightings in our cluttered garage.  So we bought traps (fancy traps, not the cheap wooden ones) and poison.  And, I left it alone. Fast forward a few days later...I noticed there were droppings in our laundry room (which is the room that is connected to our garage).  I also saw that a hole had been gnawed into the door.  More fancy traps and poison were bought.  But, we quickly realized we had a smart mouse.  Actually, at that point, thanks to my incredibly amazing investigative research skills (AKA: I read all the scary mouse stories on Google), I had convinced myself that we had an infestation.  We had 175 mice in our house and it was just a matter of time before the whole house would fall down around us due to the mice living in the walls.  It became an obsession of mine.  I researched, fretted, read some more, worried some more...repeat...daily for a few days.

Then, I saw a mouse run into our baby's closet and while we barricaded the closet door with lots of towels, the big guns were called in.  Actually, first we called a friend who is in the National Guard to assess the situation and tell us what he thought.  I promise, we did.  We called him and his lovely wife late at night and asked them what to do.  We also called another sweet friend and her firefighter husband.  No one really knew what to do.  So, while I decided NOT to call 911, we threw traps into the closet and waited for the ORKIN man to come in the morning (FYI...they have a 24 hour hotline you can call when you're in a panic to get someone scheduled to come to your house the next morning).  

The kindest exterminator came to our house the next morning and confirmed a few things:  

1.  Unfortunately, the mouse was no longer in the closet.

2.  Thankfully, the house was not infested.

3. Much to my relief, the squeaking noises that I knew were mice infiltrating our house were actually just crickets...outside.  

He did not even charge us.  He advised us to use the cheap, wooden mouse traps and told us that the garage decluttering project that we were endeavoring upon the next day was a great idea and would take care of the 1 or 2 mice that were sharing our residential address.  

The next morning, a mouse was in the trap (there was great rejoicing, texts sent to friends and family, and a rendition of "Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead" was sung).  Oh, and the garage was cleaned out. 

We were heading to bed that night, somewhat hopeful that the ordeal was over when we heard scratching in our couch.  A mouse ended up running into the hall closet by our door.  More barricades were set, a frantic text sent about getting rid of the sofas the next morning, traps put outside of the closet, and another sleepless night commenced.  Thankfully, that mouse could not figure out how to escape and once we put the traps inside of the closet the next night, it died.  Yes, I just smiled again when I thought about the mouse's demise.  Maybe I need help? 

Here's the thing...those mice...they were TINY.  Tiny little vermin who became larger than life to me.  WAY larger than life.  I was convinced we were doomed.  We were going to die of some type of mouse disease.  My babies were going to be gnawed on while they were sleeping.  The mouse was hiding under the bed just waiting to attack my feet as soon as I got out of bed.  My anxiety level was EXTREME and as the sleepless nights piled on, as I read more rodent material, and obsessed over every noise I heard, I was very close to having major panic attacks.  Mice being in the house was disgusting, yes, but what I allowed myself to do to me mentally was WAY worse.

Those stupid mice symbolize much because reality is that I am very good at making small "things" in my life become so much larger than they really are.   In all honesty, I'm doing it right now with a situation.  I've allowed the enemy to wreak havoc on my mind as I think of every potential scenario that may happen, every "what if" or "should have,"...and I keep doing it.

Do you ever do that?  What seemingly huge issue in your life is actually minor but has become a constant source of mental anguish?  Can I suggest something?  Let's call THE Exterminator.  Let God bring peace as He assures us that while the enemy does come in as an uninvited guest, we don't have to let him dwell in the crevices of our minds.  Declutter our minds as we bask in His peace.  Rejoice as we realize that the enemy is DEFEATED.  Defeated...that makes me smile more than even knowing those freaky, disgusting mice are dead.

"Guide my steps by your word, so I will not be overcome by evil." - Psalm 119:133

A Lesson On Grace From My Girl

"They didn't have them ready after I called last night to make sure they would be ready by 7:00 this morning!"  I yelled out to my husband as I rushed in the door.

One school-aged child was still in bed, the other one was not ready, lunches were unmade, and we had to leave for school in 40 minutes.  Rushing ensued as I frantically yelled to the kids to hurry up.

Chaos mounted.  The baby was wailing for "wata".  My precious 5-year-old boy was growing more anxious by the moment. Mr. Wonderful was trying to figure out what I wanted him to do when I didn't even know what I wanted him to do.

My sweet girl - the one who is feisty like her mama - looked at me and smiled.  "It's OK, Mommy.  Just email the pictures to my teacher so she can show the class."

And, like that, my little girl "unrushed" me.  As I looked into her beautiful eyes, I remembered what is important.  I am working alongside my husband to raise little souls to love Jesus and handle life situations with grace.  I was being anything but gracious in my frenzied, hurried state.

I took a deep breath as I took her suggestion.  You could literally feel the tension fade as we all calmed down.  Our morning became beautiful.  Filled with laughter, sweet conversations and a walk to school that allowed us to savor time with each other instead of worrying about being late.

The six-year-old who is responsible for the bulk of my grey hair turned our family's entire day around.  I thanked her as we walked to school.

"Mommy, I love you more than pictures of Pete the Cat and I know you tried to get those pictures."

Grace...she's getting it and, now, she's teaching me.

Bravely Whispering

Dear Brogan,

You want to be brave like superheroes. 

In public, you are quiet.  Crowds of children your own age make you nervous.  You want to speak, but sometimes the words just don't come out.  I see in your eyes how you long to play with others, but it's not always easy for you to just join in activities with people you don't know.

So, when the tears and nerves came flooding in just a couple hours before your Kindergarten orientation, I somewhat expected it, but it still concerned me.  So, I prayed...and I had other people pray.  

Then the time came...

Your moment to enter into the room that will house hundreds of your thoughts and feelings for the next nine months.  The place that you will grow...without your mom and dad there to hold your hand or give you a reassuring smile.  You entered with trepidation, but, you entered!

As I watched you sit at your desk - making sure that I sat beside you - I saw it in your eyes:

Anxiety.  Fear.  Uncertainty.  All mixed together.

Yet, you stayed. You didn't let the negative thoughts prevent you from savoring that moment.  Your opportunity to sit at your first elementary school desk for your first time.

As the teacher talked, your eyes grew bigger.  Your hand would often touch my arm as if to say, "Mommy, we're in this together, right?"  Sometimes I would pat your hand, sometimes I'd just let you leave it there.  Trying to figure out what you needed from me at that moment.  Keenly aware that the next time you enter that room, I will be leaving you for a few hours to figure this all out on your own.

Then came the real test.  Daddy loves to talk about the "One Shining Moment" in college basketball.  This was your shining moment:  the time to talk to your teacher.  Just like a basketball player doesn't know if his last attempt to make a shot will get his team the winning victory, I wasn't so sure if you'd be able to conquer this moment.

You did!! 

It was just a whisper to your teacher, but it screamed bravery to this mama.  Sometimes bravery doesn't show up loudly and proclaim its victory...sometimes the biggest bravery comes in doing the tasks that seem daunting.  Sometimes bravery shines through with a whisper.

You, my son, are brave.

To All Moms...Our Silence Is Killing Us

To All Moms,

Our silence is killing us.  Literally.  Today, I wept at the loss of one of our own.  A precious new mom who thought the postpartum depression she felt was wrong.  Unable to understand the hand she had been dealt, she took her life.  She leaves behind a loving husband, a baby girl, and a slew of family and friends who wish they had known.

As I wept, I wondered...how many other moms are struggling?  Maybe the story isn't postpartum: maybe it's an empty nest, a child following a path you don't understand, a dream that looks different due to illness, parenting while grieving, parenting without a partner, mommy guilt...there are so many reasons we hurt.  Suffering in silence because we don't want to intrude upon others.  Suffering in silence out of fear.

How many other moms are waiting in the wings, ready to share with fellow comrades how they overcame adversities?  Willing to share, but only when asked.  Keeping silent because we don't want to intrude.  Keeping silent out of fear.

Mamas...our stories, experiences, difficulties...they are worth sharing.  Sharing boldly with each other. Reaching out both for help and to help.

So, today, I share one of my struggles for the one I wish had reached out for help...and for her friends who wish they had shared.  Her story..."stuck" in a sea of depression...is also my story.

He was my last baby.  Our family now "complete."  Our rainbow baby born after a devastating loss. We gave him a strong name because God gave us him.  And, less than 48 hours after he was born, I looked at him and thought, "This is not how I should be feeling right now. I should not be grieved in my spirit. I should be singing, 'It Is Well With My Soul.' I have really messed up this time."  I cried tears as I put my sweet boy in his carseat for the first time. This baby I loved with all my heart, I didn't deserve.  I was going to mess up his life forever.  In fact, I thought I already had.

With two other children waiting excitedly for our return home, I was no stranger to postpartum blues. Those anxieties were rough and left me feeling momentarily defeated...and they passed after a couple weeks.  This...this was so much different.

Within two days of being home, my three and five year olds most common phrase became, "Mommy, why are you crying AGAIN?"  This made me cry more.  I had ruined their lives, too.  I began to envy them as they giggled and played.  Wishing to be young again...longing for their naivety to be mine, too.  I couldn't help but wonder what kind of mother envies her own children's joy?  I thought I was an awful mother...unworthy of these sweet babes.

My husband became the target of all my anger.  He didn't know whether to run or hold me when I started my tirades. I didn't know what he should do either. I said things to him that I would have never said before.  I knew it was wrong, but I could not stop.  I felt like I would explode. I thought he would be so much better off without me.  I thought I was unlovable.

My anxiety was so extreme that I felt unable to breathe at times.  I slept with all the lights on. I threw things.  I had dizzy spells. I would stay on my bed, sobbing, for what felt like hours. It was during one of these moments that my husband said, "We are getting help."

I was terrified the doctor would think I was insane.  Just the opposite...she reminded me that this was all very normal due to hormonal and life changes out of our control.  I was placed on a low dose medication and advised to get counseling.  Our first counseling inquiry fell through so I decided I didn't need it.  Forgoing counseling was probably a big mistake because while the medicine helped with the anxiety, the depression came flooding in.

Months of not wanting to do anything, feeling like I was failing as a parent and wife, and making poor choices in several areas wore on me.  I felt like my family deserved something better than myself.  I replayed in my head every mistake I made over and over again.  I walked around under a cloud of guilt, shame and anger. It was a dark, scary abyss and I thought I would live there forever.

Thankfully, my story doesn't end there.  Others shared with me during my darkest hours.  Members of my Bible Study shared their own experiences in parenthood.  Other ladies at church mentioned their own daily struggles. Most didn't even know what I was going through; they were just being real in their own lives. Most have no clue that I listened intently.  Watched them intently.  I learned so much from them.

Some of those who were aware of my battle, jumped into the trench with me.  My husband was my rock...the one responsible for getting many to pray...the one who held my hand...the one who endured the worst, but never left.  My sister listened to all my thoughts...ALL my crazy thoughts and assured me over and over and over again that I was a good mom, a good wife, a good person.  A sweet friend checked in daily and made sure weekly playdates (aka: Mommy Therapy) happened even when I didn't want to get out of the house.  Another came over and cleaned my entire house while I was out of town and would take my children out for fun when she could sense I needed time.  They offered their friendship and refused to let go. People prayed and encouraged me to pray and fight my negative thoughts.  They reminded me I wasn't alone.  Slowly, because of my "army" the tide began to shift. Ultimately, God  - our Commander - got me through, but He used a great group of "soldiers" to help me through.

That precious baby that I thought I had ruined turned sixteen months old today.  He is the most joyful baby in the world.  He never meets a stranger.  Two nights ago, he fell off a bed and had to get six stitches on his adorable little nose.  I momentarily started to feel the guilt that was responsible for squelching life out of me for over 14 months of his life. "I was in the room...I should have seen it coming...He will always have a scar."  I was able to stop those thoughts before they took a tight grip on me.  The next day, that baby took his chubby little hands, cupped my face and said, "My mama!" before doling out kisses.  This child - the one I loved when I couldn't love myself - he is absolutely fine.  My struggles made him no worse for the ware. That's when I realized:  it is finally well with my soul.

Sweet moms who feel like you are barely hanging on...your struggles are real.  They are yours, but they are also ours.  We can help you through because we have been through (and are going through). Don't be ashamed.  You are not a bad mom.  Will you share with someone?  Will you reach out?  We are listening.  We need you.

Moms who have been in trenches that you are no longer in...will you reach out?  Will you share your stories to moms of younger children so that they can grow?  Will you admit your hardships that you had/that you have?  We are listening. We need you.

*For those in the postpartum battle, who are unsure of where to turn, this website will you provide you with resources and other information:  http://postpartumprogress.org.  You are not alone.

The Relentless 'Daddy'

"Daddy, when you were a kid...?"

That question is a favorite in this house.  Two children longing to know even more about the father they admire.  The third child, still too small to voice his questions, listens intently.  Almost as if he knows that it's important when Daddy speaks.  Because in this house, when Daddy is answering a question, the world stops to listen.

"Did you play with cars?"  "Did you like broccoli?"  "Did you have to brush your teeth before bed?"

They soak in his answers.  Eager to learn a little more about his life.  

These wee ones, they've taught me so much.  Yet, as I watch them with this man of mine, they teach me even more.

So, I stop and listen, too.  I listen to how he responds in love to every question.  How his answer is almost never just a one word response, but a response that he knows will satisfy their inquisitive minds.  

And, I wonder, what if I was like that with the One I now know as "Daddy?" 

So, I try it.  I start asking questions about Him...about His character. 

"Daddy, How do I know you will protect me?"  "Daddy, How do I know that you will forgive yet another blunder from this broken flesh?" 

One by one my questions are answered:

Psalm 121:7 - The LORD keeps you from all harm and watches over your life.

1 John1:9 - But if we confess our sins to him, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all wickedness.

By reading His word and conversing with Him, He is breathing life - HIS life - into these dry bones:

Ezekiel 37:5 - This is what the Sovereign LORD says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life.

LIFE.  The condition that represents growth, functional activity, the ability to change.  And, as these bones become alive, a desire to know Him more awakens.  I am pursuing Him...everything about Him...and He is pursuing me...my love, my time, my life.  With every question, He provides an answer.  Drawing me to Him.  Responding with love. Showing me His mercy.  He is relentless in His pursuit of me.  

And, He is relentless in His pursuit of YOU.  Watch for Him. Listen to Him.  Wait for Him.  Write down your answers to your own questions.  Let Him breath LIFE into you.

Matthew 6:33 - But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you.

When You Don't Understand A Gift

I had just listened to a powerful and inspiring testimony on the radio about daily giving God our pain and asking Him to, in return, give us all that He wanted to for that day when her message popped into my inbox.  Wisdom, advice, necessary - yet gentle - chastising, concern all rolled into one.  

One statement jumped out at me.  She called this a gift.  I had to reread her words.  A gift???  What kind of Giver gifts pain?  Despair?  Turmoil that feels so thick the very air around you feels weighted?

There was a time I would have rolled my eyes and dismissed what she said, but something about what I had just heard on the radio and what she had just wrote stuck with me.  

I wrote this post days before...the one where I was beginning to "taste and see" His goodness.  Then more happened.  More pain.  More defeat.  My focus was lost.  Bitterness abounded when praying ceased.

A couple days earlier - out of desperation, perhaps -  I opened the pages to a book called "Every Bitter Thing is Sweet" by Sara Hagerty.  It's as if this book was written just for me, just for this time.  Precious words by a precious person who has truly learned that "the pain of life, against God's Word and whispers, comes to look like opportunity."  Little did I know that in the opening of this book, God was opening my heart.

I reread the words in my inbox again: "You may not like the gift, but it is what the Lord has chosen for you during this season." 

"OK, God, if this is a gift, can you show me how to use it?" I prayed.

Later that day, I read this statement in the book that I was beginning to treasure: "Each blow has a treasure of Him, hidden deep made for our searching out."  More confirmation of this "gift."

Throughout the next several hours, revelations kept coming:  Words read.  Prayers prayed. Realizations of areas in my own life that needed fixed.  Forgiveness requested and granted from the very same Giver of all this pain.  My grip was loosening...letting go of things that I had held onto tightly for far too long.  I started searching my Bible to learn more about God and who He is simply so that I can adore Him and converse with Him differently...allowing Him to truly be my Daddy...allowing Him to draw me in.

Not only was I doing my part, but other people were being obedient to His wooing.  Prayers were being prayed for Jared and I by others to the point that the other night we could literally feel that others were crying out on our behalf.

Then a real cry early this morning jolted me from my sleep. Just one cry from the one whose name means "Mighty Warrior."  As I listened to see if he needed attending to, there was silence.  Now, I was wide awake in a silent house. I knew, God - the ultimate warrior - had used my little guy to wake me up to spend time with Him.

I prayed a very candid prayer before opening my Bible.  A prayer requesting His guidance in an area that I refused to release because of my own anger.

I opened my Bible and read the first thing I saw...a footnote that said, "Don't waste your life by selecting an inferior purpose that has no lasting value." 

Hmmm...was this meant for me?  Was His answer once again coming swiftly?  Was He telling me to let go?  To not let my anger prevent me from something I need to do?

I read the verses of the Psalm (Psalm 144) that was attached to the footnote:

"Praise the Lord, who is my rock.

    He trains my hands for war

    and gives my fingers skill for battle."

2 

"He is my loving ally and my fortress

He is my shield, and I take refuge in him."

"Reach down from heaven and rescue me;

    rescue me from deep waters,

    from the power of my enemies."

I stopped.  

Ok, so God, you train my hands for war...my fingers for battle.  You equip me to fight (prepare me mentally for the task).  You qualify/establish/train me for battle.  Not against people, but against the enemy who wants to destroy me.  This is awesome, but I kind-of know that.  I am a fighter by nature.

Here, though, is where the real revelation came:  Not only does He equip me for battle, He equips me for rescue. Loving rescue that comes from Him, so that I can take refuge (shelter, protection, safety) IN Him.  

It's not always easy to allow myself to be rescued.  I'm strong-willed to a fault. But God, who knows how I am and just what I need, was preparing me for this moment for days in advance.  He was preparing me for my rescue. 

With a humble and sincere heart, I accepted His aid.  

For the first time since this whole ordeal started several weeks ago, I was able to pray blessings over the people involved.  In fact, not just blessings, but sincere, "my heart breaks for them" prayers.

And, that, my friends, is the gift.

Psalm 144:15 - Joyful indeed are those whose God is the Lord.

Don't Fear, Just Dance

Her hair blew wildly as she twirled around.  Beach life suits her and our sweet girl was happy to be on a fishing pier enjoying the view, the wind, and the scent of the ocean air.

Something happened as she looked near her feet.  Her countenance changed.  Concerned, she pointed to the large gaps between some of the boards.  Those gaps, revealing a little too much water below in her opinion.  (Sidenote:  The pier was actually very safe...just not when left to the imagination of a six-year-old).

"Is this safe, Daddy?" "Are we going to fall?"

That sweet man of mine - the man who knows just how to ease the minds of both of his girls - lovingly assured her that everything was fine.  We were safe.

And, just like that, she looked up to the sky and the dancing resumed.

Worry no longer took residence in her thoughts.  She simply took her daddy at his word.  Trusted him without a second thought.  She knew he would not put her in an unsafe situation.

How often do I forget to take my Daddy - God - at His word?  How frequently do I question Him?  How many times do I wonder if the situation He has allowed me to enter into is unsafe?  Why do I allow my countenance to change when looking below?  Why don't I just look up, breathe in His truth and dance?

Want to join me in trusting and dancing today?  Let this truth sink in...

Proverbs 1:33 

But all who listen to me will live in peace,

    untroubled by fear of harm.

When You're Called To Do The Difficult

His 15-month-old face scrunches up and I realize my mistake.  I grabbed his brother's cup filled with lemonade.  And, to this baby who has only ever known milk and water, the taste is sour.  I pause and wonder...if I could see inside my soul, is that the face I would see? Lips pursed, body shuddering, face scrunched?

Bitterness has stolen my peace.  Animosity has robbed me of my joy.  My heart is hard and my stance is firm.  With arms crossed, I refuse to pray about what is causing my angst.  "No, Lord. Not for that person.  Or that one.  They don't deserve my prayers."

In my stubbornness, I have remained bitter.  Furious at them.  Then, this.  Then, that.  Before I know it, I'm waking up anxious.  Fighting to catch breaths.  This anger is turning me against everything.  No longer do I know that "God's got this" all I know is that "I must fix this."

This has gone on for a few weeks and there is a reason this blog has been silent.  How can I say anything good, when this bitter taste is constantly in my mouth?  Bitterness is defined as lack of sweetness, anger, disappointment, resentment.  I would say that's accurate.  I would say that I am experiencing it all.

Finally, in desperation, I reach out for help from a wise woman whom I respect deeply.  She listens and in a gentle tone asks me this, "Are you praying for them?"  Through the course of our conversation, I realize that the way God is choosing to take this cup from me is to do that which I do not want to do...pray for my "enemies."

I HAVE to do the hard thing so that I can have peace.

Am I OK with that?  Can I do it?  Can I sincerely ask God to bless those who are wrong?  Can I trust that He will make it right?

How can I not?

Two years ago, we were consumed with grief from a miscarriage.  He made it beautiful in His time.  A year later, I was consumed with guilt over dropping my 10 week old baby a month earlier.  He made it beautiful in His time.  Ecclesiastes 3 tells us that to everything there is a season.  I don't like this season.  I'd rather pass it by and move on to sunnier days.  Yet, His promises are true and this I do know...He is going to make it beautiful in His time.

So, I kneel.  Face to the ground, I pray.  My heart has not yet softened, but the peace begins to flow.  The glimmer of brighter days is ahead.  As I reach for Him, He will pull me out. BUT...I HAVE to reach.  The way I reach out is by crying out...not for me, but for them.  Just as my baby's expression softens as he finally sips his water, my heart will do the same...in HIS time.  I am "tasting and seeing" that He is good. (Psalm 34:8)

Is He asking you to do a hard thing?  Maybe, like me, it's to pray for someone who is wrong.  Maybe, it's calling that friend.  Maybe, it's being still.  Will you trust Him?  Trust Him to make it beautiful in HIS time???

Proverbs 3

5 Trust God from the bottom of your heart; don't try to figure out everything on your own. 

6 Listen for God's voice in everything you do, everywhere you go; He's the one who will keep you on track.

This World Needs Hope

He wants to be a police officer.  As I look at his innocent blue eyes, his small hands, and precious little face, I want to hold tight to my 5-year-old and never let him grow up.  Being in law enforcement..what a valiant dream. Oh, but what a scary one for this mama.  Especially now.  Especially with the way the world is going.

I read a FB status from a friend.  He and his wife feel it's necessary to sit two of their young sons down to have a serious talk. A talk about how some people react to the color of their skin.   These parents fear for their sweet boys' futures.  And it's scary for that daddy and mama.  Especially now.  Especially with the way the world is going.

It only takes a half minute of scrolling down the comments of a public article to see that this world is full of hate, fear, rage, "this side," "that side," and chaos...so much chaos.  It is painful to read.  Painful to watch the news.  Painful to hear that someone else has been shot.  When you hear a 4-year-old telling her mommy, "It's OK, mommy.  I'm right here." as they watch the mom's fiancee die, the tears cannot stop falling and you feel like you cannot breathe for a moment.  When you are watching the news and suddenly see a man in uniform lying face first on the ground...lifeless, the tears cannot stop falling and you feel like you cannot breathe for a moment.

And, you can't blame people for hurting.  You can't blame them for lashing out.  You can't blame them for feeling hopeless.  Because, who is showing them the real Hope?

As Christians, this is our duty.  We are to "go and tell the good news." We are failing. Lost in our own sea of fear, anger, misery...we are just letting people die.  Failing to fall on our knees and our faces to pray for our country.  Failing to love and encourage everyone...regardless of race, class level, religion.  Failing to put aside political agendas.  Calling our lack of concern a "stand for our morals." We are wrong.  So very wrong.  We can love without compromising.  We can encourage without sacrificing our souls.  We can pray.  We can pray fervently... at all times.

Recently, Jared and I have gone through emotional pain due to another that very few people know about.  It would be so easy for us to lose our minds.  Without Christ, we very well might.  Without the love and encouragement and prayers from those who do know what we're dealing with, we would feel abandoned. Alone.  Defeated. Hopeless.

And that's the way so many people in this country are feeling.  This anger...despair...anarchy...it HAS to stop.

We need Christ... and we need people.  People who will love.  People who will pray.  People who will say, "We are standing with you." People who will love their lives in a way that points toward the Hope.

Can we be that people today??

Hebrews 6
18 God cannot tell lies! And so his promises and vows are two things that can never be changed.  We have run to God for safety. Now his promises should greatly encourage us to take hold of the hope that is right in front of us.19 This hope is like a firm and steady anchor for our souls. In fact, hope reaches behind the curtain[a] and into the most holy place.

So, What About Grace?

I blogged last week right before my Birthday about grace.  How I am thankful that I can see grace in all things.  Now, those words scoff at me.  What happens when we can't see grace?  What happens when we can't feel it?  What happens when all we know is that this world is full of nastiness, cruelness, unfairness and people who like to just be mean and miserable?  What then?

Does it change Grace???

I googled the definition.  Grace...(in Christian belief) the free and unmerited favor of God, as manifested in the salvation of sinners and the bestowal of blessings.

Free and unmerited favor of God?

I ponder that definition.  Because right now, this Grace, I'm just not sure it's flowing in my life.

And, I stop writing right here.  I stop writing and start thanking.  Because those words...that sentence..."I'm just now sure it's flowing in my life"...that's not true.

I know grace flows freely...daily...hourly.

It's showered down upon me in the good.  When I cuddle with my kids, kiss my husband, smile at everyone I see. When I feel the sun on my face, hear the birds in the air, feel the wind blowing my hair. I soak it in during the not so good.  When I am crying out to God because I yelled, upset because I fussed, wondering how I can ever be a better person. When I don't feel lovable, or kind, or happy.

And, in this moment, in this rotten, ugly, moment that I have NO control over...yes, in the moment where one minute I'm trusting Him and the next I'm questioning Him...in this very moment, His grace abounds.

And, 8 days after posting this verse, I post it again...because, clearly, I need it.  Maybe you do, too.  Maybe if we were all a little more aware of His Grace, the things of this world would fade and we'd see only His face.  Maybe we'd all learn to love a little more, fight a little less, trust always, doubt never...

" But because God was so gracious, so very generous, here I am. And I’m not about to let his grace go to waste." 1 Corinthians 15:10

God, please, let me never let YOUR grace go to waste.

To Me: Love, God

"I'm not in this.   Not in this ball of anger, bitterness and despair.

You want to spew words of frustration.  You want to write to feel better, but only for a moment.  You want to tell others about this wrongdoing.  

For what?  

For sympathy?  For empathy?  For someone to agree with you?

Will it help?  Will you have peace?  Will you have an inner sense of calm?

You know the answer.  That's why you always run to Me.  Usually much later than you should.  

Can it work different this time?  Can you just let Me help you from the get-go?  Can you react in a manner that glorifies Me?  Can you let me edify you as you read My word? Can you acknowledge that I always help?  That all suffering is momentary?  That how you feel now is not how you will feel always?  Life ebbs and flows, but I remain constant.  Can you focus on that truth?  Focus on me?  

I want your attention.  I long for you to communicate with Me.  Praise Me.  Thank Me.  Talk to Me.  Cry out to Me.  Not to a friend who doesn't know what to say.  Don't try to get your husband to fix this.  Sit still.  Be still.  Listen.

Can you hear me?  Can you feel me?  I am calming your anxious heart right now.  Breathe me in.  Let my peace infiltrate your lungs.  Let my presence soothe your soul. 

I am with you...always.  ALWAYS. Without fail.  I am here.  Run to me first."

Psalm 145:18

The Lord is close to all who call on him,
    yes, to all who call on him in truth.

This Is My Happy Place

This is my happy place.

This home that contains some incredible humans.

The toddler who says, "Ummm...good!" every time he approves of a food item.  Who tries to climb all the things.  Who will give quick hugs only...because there is just so much stuff to find to get into.  Who walks around the house just laughing...at everything...at nothing...at life.  Our joyous one...our blessing after the storm.

The 5-year-old who is brave amongst these walls of this happy place, but not so brave outside of them.  The boy who observes...watches...feels with his whole heart.  He knows what makes people smile and he pursues those smiles.  Our little giver...our "surprise" baby who we foolishly thought was entering our family a little too soon.

The 6-year-old who knows how to drive this mama crazy and make me melt into a puddle of love all at the same time.  Who works hard to be "good and kind" because she knows that's what shows the love of Jesus the best.  The one who is dramatic, feisty, tender, tough, sweet and silly all mixed together.  Our firecracker...our miracle baby who proved the doctors had no clue what they were talking about just months before she was conceived.

My husband.  My rock.  The one who has rejoiced with me in the good, cried with me in the bad, prayed for me in the really rotten, and loved me through it all.  He loves Jesus, the Hokies, basketball, NASCAR,  his church, his family, and me.  His passion for life inspires me.  His kind heart softens me.  His love carries me (not like God's love carries me, because, of course, we both know we're NOTHING without Him).

This is my happy place.

There's a reason that statement hangs on my living room wall.

These people.  My people.  They are my happy place.

As I prepare to close the chapter to another year of life, I reflect.  Another year older, but really only another day older.  Another year of life lived well...and, sometimes, not so well.  In this house, we try to focus on the well and just let the rest teach us lessons.

The lessons abounded this year, but grace, God's sweet grace, it abounded more. (Romans 5:20)  

Our kids already are learning about grace.  The older kids ask us to "show them grace" when getting punished.  The littlest one will walk behind this mama singing, "Grays, grays. (Grace, grace)"  And, while none of them have a true grasp on real Grace, they are very aware that it exists.  They'll learn...and it all started here, in our happy place.

So, while the news swirls with stories of despair, grief, tragedy that is unbearable...our home, it swirls with love, joy, and peace.  Not always, but mostly.  

For that, I am thankful.  For the honor of tucking three babies in their beds at night, I am grateful.  For the joy of waking up to my sweet husband in the morning, I am incredibly appreciative.  For entering into another year with my family, in my happy place, I am thrilled.

For the ability to see God's Grace in all things, I am beyond words.

" But because God was so gracious, so very generous, here I am. And I’m not about to let his grace go to waste." 1 Corinthians 15:10