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.