Gotta Love Being Triggered

I should have stayed off social media today. In back to back posts on my Facebook feed, I read about one woman's reasons for changing her stance on abortion, and another woman's account of accidentally starving her first baby based on the premise "Breast is Best".

Both accounts triggered memories of Austin's Birth Story even though circumstances in the second story were completely different.

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You see, when my main doc got Austin's 20 week ultrasound results, we were told to meet with a particular obstetrician who dealt with complicated pregnancies. I just assumed something minor was wrong, and they would just be monitoring me more closely since I was almost 40.

However, apparently it was his job to give people the "really" bad news. It was his job to describe all the deformities he could already see and the challenges that would mean. It was also his job to describe all of the potential, and probable according to him, mental and physical challenges the child would have as well as the burden we would have to care for this child. It was his job to present us with all the bad things that would probably happen if we continued the pregnancy. It was his job to scare the hell out of us and convince us to have an abortion. And he would be the one to perform that abortion.

I remember being numb with shock. I remember staring at a family photo of five or six sitting on the shelf behind him thinking he could talk about killing babies without blinking an eye.

And I remember thinking, yes, I have a way out of this nightmare that we were being presented with. I have a way out of what I initially thought would be the shame in having a deformed child that would interrupt our perfectly "normal" family unit. I have a way out of a most unknown of all unknowns, caring for a medically complex child for the rest of my life.

The next moments were critical. My world pivoted and spun. I had no idea what to decide or say. And I'm not sure what my husband thought either because he was in shock as well. I don't remember if we even looked at each other.

But I do remember doing one thing. I asked the doc what the abortion would entail. And he obliged me with an answer. He began to describe in detail what would happen.

With each new piece of information about the "procedure" I began to feel more and more nauseous. Finally, I couldn't take any more information, I pushed back my chair and demanded to leave.

Everything in me wanted to get rid of what sounded like a mistake of a human being inside me while at the same time everything in me screamed, I can't be responsible for killing someone, I can't, I can't, I can't!

So we left in a hurry amidst stumbling, awkward goodbyes. The doctor told me I needed to decide soon within the next couple days because I was already 20 weeks. If I waited too long, they couldn't do it.

We drove home in silence and the rest is history.

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After Austin was born, the NICU doctor repeatedly and defiantly tried to convince us to take Austin home on what they called "comfort care". It was basically hospice status which meant to expect death within a few days. We were supposed to just hold him and give him pain meds until he passed. We were not supposed to offer him a drop of food or water. We were supposed to starve him to death.

And my initial thought again was, yes, I have a second chance and a way out of this crazy mess. I have official permission and a legitimate reason to kill my baby.

But again the longer I imagined trying to do what she wanted, the more the thought sickened me (and apparently my husband too, who became Austin's primary advocate since I was on morphine after an emergency pelvic surgery that followed Austin's birth). I had just enough awareness to know and hear what was going on, but not enough to make emphatic, declarative decisions.

But I did know I couldn't go home and not try to feed my baby. I can't be responsible for killing someone, I can't, I can't, I can't.

I Have Something To Say

I want to tell y’all something. It’s important because it was life saving for me (like now I don't lie in bed everyday and think about all the ways to leave this earth), and I want to be able to mention and talk about it here in this space. Perhaps it might help someone else who might be feeling stuck within the confines of solutions that have been suggested to them so far (but aren't working).

I am mostly at peace. I say "mostly" because, duh, I'm human and humans are reactive, emotional, and thought-ridden. But if I'm not at peace, I know how to get back to it. I know how to work on it and towards it. I feel I'm finally aware of what "born again" means. A glimpse, an opening, a doorway, a breath, a release, surrender. Things in my life have not necessarily changed, but my perception has.

In the spring of 2016 (as best I can tell based on my blog posts, i.e. Fighting For Peace) while I was still struggling (and praying and begging God for help) to overcome the effects of my grief (overwhelming disappointment, depression, anger, rebellion) due to my “life situation” (caring for a medically complex child, unrealized expectations), my "you know I'm almost 80 years old" aunt (as she refers to herself), with whom I had recently reconnected, asked if I had read “The Power of Now” by Eckart Tolle.

So I read it (listened to it) which led to my reading (listening to) his second book “A New Earth” (which led to me listening to and reading them repeatedly over the last two years plus his selection books "Oneness With All Life" and "Stillness Speaks".)

Now I know what some of my Christian friends and family may be thinking, “Holy cow, the girl is reading and listening to new age heresy!” which is why I've been reluctant to talk about this outright before now. Don't worry, I haven't denounced "the faith", however, why should I keep a secret part of the reason I'm able to live again?

Obviously I read the books through the lens of Christianity. I mean, I've been a "born again" Christian since childhood, heard the teaching twice on Sunday and once on Wednesdays from the time I was born until I left for college. And even in college and beyond, I've done a pretty good job at making it to "Bible" studies and Sunday morning services, including serving in all the various capacities church membership entails.

But over the years, and specifically since Austin (and researching his brain, how fragile a brain is, how brains work, how it can change, the chemicals, structures, thoughts), I’ve experienced doubt and questions about some of what I’d been taught about God and the Bible. Yep. You heard me. I don't have child-like faith. This has led me to take Christian author's interpretations and Sunday morning sermons with a grain of salt, always filtering and searching for the nugget of actual truth.

So for me, it’s easy to read secular books in the same way - in fact, I feel like I've always read secular books that way. I filter and search for the nuggets of truth no matter what the genre, and I take in everything with a grain of salt. Because if there's One God, One Divinity, (shall I dare to go so far to say, One Consciousness?), then there is one Truth. And won't It (whatever It is) reveal itself within me no matter the source? For aren't we all created in One Image? If we seek, will we not find? Won't the rocks cry out? Hasn't God/Truth been revealed to us since the beginning through creation? The Word spoken and manifested? I could go on...

And so I've been open to consider everything that comes my way. Especially "accidental or coincidental" things that enter my path that I was not actively searching for or seeking (besides searching and seeking the Truth.) And I don't have to fear anything that comes my way because the One Spirit is not a spirit of fear.

Which brings me back to my aunt and those books I mentioned above. While I wouldn't say they paint the whole picture of how I overcame my funk (there were many other factors including blogging, other books, counseling, husband, kids), I would definitely say both my aunt and the ideas in the books played an extremely large part (as in a profound turning point) and still do.

So I wonder: Why couldn't I get this same result with my Christian background and all the knowledge that entailed? Why couldn't I find peace? Why was I drawn to reconnect with this family member who became my therapist, my confidant, my best friend? Why was I able to be open with her and how did she have the capacity to give me space, to listen without giving advice? Why did it take the way that author phrases things for me to finally begin to heal, "to see the light"? Why did it take this particular perspective and vocabulary? Why...?

Well...I have ideas. But they are just ideas. So I'll just leave you wondering, too.   :)

********

But wait, I have something else to say: I love you Aunt Barbara! Thank you for opening your heart to me. Thank you for your unconditional love. I bequeath unto you all the heart emojis: 💛💛💛...

My Morning of Mourning The Loss Of Something I Never Had. Thank You #Supermoon.

Early morning on Dec. 3, 2017 my eyes pop open as I realize my stomach is doing that queasy thing. It is the third morning of recovering from the "Please God, Kill Me Now" stomach bug that had just ravaged our family. I roll over in bed and look at the time, 3:33 am.

Well, of course it is. I'm not surprised. I've been seeing repeating numbers all year. Usually it's 11:11 or 4:44, but sometimes its one of the other combos. At first it was kind of fun, but now it seems ridiculous. I doubt I'm actually seeing them more often than they ever occurred before, but for some reason my mind is super aware of them these days.

I toss and turn the rest of the morning trying to go back to sleep. However, at 7:00 am, I watch my phone alarm chime. I hate being awake for the alarm. For some reason the anticipation of watching the numbers turn to the time I set the alarm for and then bracing myself for the sound is much worse than waking up to the alarm from a dead sleep. Usually to prevent that from happening, I just grab my phone a couple minutes before and turn the alarm off.

If I'm going to have any chance of getting Austin and myself ready for church (husband is already up packing for the airport), I know I have to force myself to get out of bed immediately. I have learned that I can't permit myself to have a snooze option because I will resist and resent getting up the longer I lie there. Plus, I would have to anticipate that alarm again. No thank you. I put my feet on the floor.

Sitting in the dining room, I have zero energy and can't decide at this point if I am hungry or still nauseous. I slump forward onto the dining room table while trying to choke down a small bowl of soggy Cheerios.

With my head on my arm, I stare out the window past the wooden blinds at the terra-cotta colored wall 5 feet from the house, and I ponder the colors. That burnt orange color gets to me sometimes, but it seems to be the official color of the desert so everything has to be painted burnt orange to "look natural" and "blend in" with the dirt (I mean, desert). It does do a nice job of setting off the green tree leaves in front of it, though. So I'll take that. I watch the leaves wiggle in the breeze.

My attention moves to the collection of things stored in front of the window: a collapsible wagon that isn't collapsed but filled with random things, a special-needs stroller, two child sized cots, and my shooting gear in the corner -
one small, black duffle bag containing my shooting jacket, a fleece liner, an elbow pad, shooting glove, sling, eye protection, ear protection, and notebook; a scope stand; and Michael's toolbox I've been borrowing filled with small bore ammo, an ammo box, various hex wrenches, and scope among other things Michael had needed for shooting small bore and air rifle over the years.

And...wait for it...I start to cry. Surprise, surprise. And oh yes, I am grieving shooting gear.

For months, ever since Austin's brush with death last January, I've been wrestling a decision about whether or not to move on from learning to shoot small bore. And suddenly I knew the answer in that moment. I am giving it up. Sorrow washed over me for the loss of what could have been, but never was. How can I grieve the loss of something I never had? It is my super power, that's why.

I started learning to shoot from the coaches at my son Michael's practices over the last couple years. Over the weeks, they gradually loaned me an amazing gun followed by fantastic sights, some basic equipment, and with their encouragement, I imagined myself as being pretty good. It was even mentioned I might be a natural like Michael. And with that ego stroke, I thought, if I could find the desire and discipline to practice, practice, practice, I could probably be great! Plus, I really wanted to make these coaches proud of me and feel their time wasn't wasted getting me equipment and training me. I am a people pleaser, you know.

Oh, the stories I made up, too: "Overwhelmed, Anxiety-Ridden Special-Needs Mom Finds Stress Relieving Outlet By Shooting Small Bore In Her 40's. Becomes Famous." Because, we always become famous in our dreams and imaginations. Otherwise, why bother dreaming? #amIright?

But reality has finally set in. While I used to be motivated to shoot with Michael, he is off to college now and on to other pursuits. Which makes me happy. Small bore and air rifle served its purpose for him. However, without him, I don't have any desire or discipline on my own to get up early on a summer Saturday morning to drive an hour away to practice for 3 hours, get super sweaty, and then drive an hour home. Or get up VERY early on a winter Sunday morning to go freeze my fingers at a practice match all day.

So while in theory becoming a famous, female small bore shooter sounds very rainbows and butterflies (because, I'm not going to lie, once at the range, its really fun, and you think you want to come back all the time), and it sounds remotely possible (except for the hard work and lack of desire and discipline), the truth is, I want to be lazy and slow moving on the weekends, a feather in the wind, or a slug. I want to have all the options and not have to do any of them. So I cry.

And then I stop and realize I am accepting that that's who I am. And I feel light! Like this weight I've been carrying for months has lifted. I don't have to shoot anymore. I don't have to shoot anymore. While its fun, and the people are absolutely awesome, and I got to spend so much time with my oldest son doing something together and creating memories, I can walk away. I can walk away. I can go on to other pursuits that maybe include Austin and my husband and middle son, Jonathan. I can.

4-8-17 I was finally getting my groups tighter.
Sights just needed slight adjusting now.

4-8-17 Patrick and Michael travelled to
Colorado Springs so Michael could compete in the
2017 Air Rifle JO National Championship.

4-22-17 Last day I practiced. Last bull of
the day shot with 5 rounds.
I had finally gotten everything aligned.

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P.S. Where can I get a set of football pads and helmet...Jonathan? :-)

P.S.S. I got cool pictures of the #supermoon2017 rising at 5:55 pm on the evening of Dec 3. That's right, people. :-)

Supermoon 2017

To Michael: On Your Day Of Graduation From High School

I know today is not the end of our relationship, that you aren't being kicked out the door into adulthood, never to be welcomed back. But it's a day that represents the culmination of all the blood, sweat, and tears that have been shed for you since the day you made your debut into this world. You were born on your due date, with a relatively short labor until the very end when you made us wait 30 minutes while you took your own sweet time. But that thick dark hair, those long eyelashes, and that irresistible smile were worth the wait.

You have always been that way. Taking your time on things. Not conforming to how everyone else does it. Finding your own path that made sense to you. And not wanting to fail when you did finally try something. We would attempt to teach you new words, get you to repeat them after us. But you would sit there silently listening. We would wonder if you had even heard us. Then three days later you would use the word perfectly in a sentence. You also had excellent descriptions of the things around you, using words you knew to describe the object you didn't know. We knew exactly what you meant when you said "milk, cold door".

You were often a quiet child, reserved, with a big smile with moments of silliness. So sweet to everyone around you. When something did bother you, we often didn't know because you suffered quietly in a corner by yourself or in a heap on the floor. Your big hazel eyes and the previously noted eyelashes had teenage girls at the dude ranch where we vacationed fawning all over your three year old self. You could easily carry on a serious conversation with adults. You loved being the center of attention.

You loved people and new experiences. We found an innovative preschool that you attended three days a week. They encouraged unstructured play and led you on many excursions throughout the city. But it wasn't enough for you. You looked across the street at the kids playing at another preschool and asked if you could attend that school too. You didn't want to miss out on anyone or anything so you attended both preschools.

You were a bright kid. Academics came fairly easy to you, and we rarely had to help you with your homework. You still loved people and got along amazingly with most of your teachers and adults in general. You also loved the kids your age and yearned to be included in their groups, however, you were often challenged as to how to relate to them. You seemed to be the true definition of an old soul, and sometimes there seemed too much of a disconnect between their interests and yours. We could only hope that time would eventually shrink that gap as we watched you begin to build walls to protect your heart.

You had to learn to march to the beat of your own drum and be ok with that. You tried many sports and activities throughout elementary and middle school that kids your age were doing, and while you liked the activities, you didn't find anything that just clicked with you or that you excelled at until you went to a Christian summer camp that had a riflery segment each day. You discovered you had a natural ability at shooting targets, and although unconventional, you finally found a sport that you enjoyed and that would end up giving you the confidence that would propel you through your teen years.

In high school, academics still came fairly easy for you. You also sampled several clubs over the four years. You surprised us by dropping out of the rifle club your freshman year and eventually immersing yourself in clubs where you had to debate or give speeches in front of audiences as well as onstage activities like choir, school musicals, and plays. You had a chance to display more of that love of attention and (re?)discovered a love to entertain.

For what seemed like forever, you only claimed to have acquaintances and not friends. You kept your walls up with most and doled out your trust sparingly. You were careful who you called a friend, weighing their commitment and loyalty over time. It's been nice to see you let your walls down a little more during your senior year and let more people in. I hope they realize the gift they've been given.

You are independent, determined, and opinionated. You found a college that seems like a perfect fit for you almost 2000 miles away from me. You can't wait to spread your wings and prove yourself without me looking over your shoulder. And although perhaps unwittingly, you've been working hard at making me ready to let you go. Because while you make me laugh, you challenge me to think, and you are one of the lights of my life, you also make me want to pull my hair out, scream, cry and slam doors.

And that's a good thing I guess. I need some kind of reason to let you go. And I know down deep you will be fine without me. So maybe that's what I'm fighting against. YOU WILL BE FINE WITHOUT ME.

(I just don't know if I will be fine without you.)


Loving you no matter what,

Your not-always-able-to-keep-her-emotions-intact mom

Fighting for Peace

This morning she woke with an intense desire to stay in bed and sleep all day. She felt the weight of tiredness, the stress of a busy schedule, and the funk and heaviness of going through the motions of existing.

Her mind bombarded her with thoughts all demanding an emotional or physical response. However, her schedule being full today meant she could not indulge these desires, and therefore, she fought her thoughts tooth and nail, moment by moment, until she was finally out the door and on her way.

She had wanted to escape. But she also knew that escaping and achieving peace through sleep, or by any other means, is only a temporary fix. She is starting to recognize that learning to quiet the thoughts in her mind, that voice that monologues all day long analyzing her every pain and discomfort, rehashing the past, worrying about the future, and stirring up her emotions might be the key towards a lasting solution.

She has not felt the intense desire to write lately, the need to unload all of these thoughts that normally torment her. Instead she has been practicing being quiet, listening instead for the still, small voice; trying to be more of an observer of these thoughts and of herself as she has these thoughts, being aware that she is NOT these thoughts, even imagining them as a separate entity from her, something she can distance herself from at will.

By creating space or distance from her thoughts (which she did unwittingly by writing about them in the third person several months back), she seems to be able to keep them from taking hold, but only if she is alert or present, and paying attention. If she relaxes, lets her guard down, and begins to just react emotionally to the thoughts as they come into her mind, before she knows it, she will be sucked into a downward spiral, a vortex of negativity and funk.

Aha! It's just so easy.

But she is finding that this is the hardest work she has ever done. She forgets all the above and gives into her thoughts, or she is at least tempted because it's easier to just go back to responding reactively, just let all the negativity in, feed the emotions as they pop up, really immerse herself in all her personal pain and the pain of the world. The injustice of it all! Ahh, that feels better (until the next thought moments later).

However, she knows that since she has become aware of something, a mystery revealed, a nugget of truth found, she really can't become unaware of it. And fortunately or unfortunately, she's had glimpses of peace, momentary pauses from just existing, maybe a peek into heaven. And she wants more. Peace of mind. Peace of thought. Peace while existing in the midst of the world's chaos, injustice, and insanity.

*****

1 Kings 19:12; Psalm 46:10; Philippians 4:7

The Family Photo Shoot

We hadn't had a family photo professionally taken since the day Austin was born. A photo taken huddled in a hospital bed because it was assumed it would be our one and only chance. Since then, I have not made an effort to coordinate a family photo. It just seemed too daunting to find a photographer, set a date I could predict that everyone would be home and in a good mood, and select outfits that matched. It also doesn't help that I'm lazy and a professional procrastinator.

However around 2:00 p.m. on a sunny Sunday after Thanksgiving this year, we found ourselves cruising down Sun Valley Parkway, making a U-turn, pulling off onto the shoulder, and parking behind my brother's borrowed pickup truck. In the back of the truck was a large leather couch he and his wife had gotten on loan for this family photo shoot.

In the desert.

It was a cute idea, and when someone else has a cute idea, does all the work and planning, and invites me along, I'm there.

Originally, I figured I'd have all our outfits planned and picked out ahead of time. I figured I would have time to fix my hair and makeup just so. I figured my kids skin would miraculously be clear from teenage breakouts. I figured everyone would be cooperative and do exactly as I asked them. However, what I expect and think I want to happen rarely is what actually happens.

I remember not feeling 100% that morning before church, and so I slept in a bit. I remember running around panicking, trying to find clothes that somehow coordinated thinking we would all just wear them to church. I remember realizing that my hair needed to be washed, and I didn't have time to dry and fix it. I remember wanting to just cancel the whole thing because mine and my teenagers' attitudes were moody. I remember no one wanted to wear what I picked out. I remember everything seemed to be going exactly opposite of how I had pictured.

I eventually gave up on the "perfection" for the moment, and let everyone just wear what they wanted to church. I quickly ran the curling iron through my hair at the last minute.

After church and the rush of the morning, I almost forgot that we were meeting at 2:00. I had already envisioned a nice nap for the afternoon. So, when I realized I really did need to get people to change their clothes and out the door looking presentable, I almost cancelled again.

But somehow we managed. We arrived on time, dressed in somewhat coordinating clothes if jeans and random blues, greens, greys, and beiges count. We had shirts with stripes, patterns, plaids, and bold words across them. It was not a designer collection by any means.

Once we arrived on the side of the road, everyone started piling out of the cars except me and Austin. It was cold and windy out so we hung back until the last minute.

Transferring the couch from the truck bed to the desert location did not go without a hitch, of course. My husband, sons, and brother began the arduous process of unloading the heavy couch and carrying it to an appropriate desert-y location with mountains and cactus in the background chosen by the photographer and my sister-in-law. Unfortunately for the boys, this entailed lifting it over a couple of barbed wire fences. Fortunately for the girls, they were well trained to do what their women wanted them to do. My nieces and nephews carried the cushions.

Someone drove by and saw us unloading the couch and must have assumed we all got dressed up and brought our kids and a photographer to commemorate a desert-couch-dumping event. Within minutes of our arrival, we were also joined by a lone police officer asking us what we were up to. After taking a copy of my husband's driver's license, we must have alleviated his concerns because he kind of sadly laughed at us before jumping back into his vehicle and speeding away. Or he figured if he found a couch out there later, he'd know where to find us. I thought it was also kind of interesting that my brother conveniently didn't have his ID with him.

Once the couch was placed, my husband came back for me and Austin. We loaded him into his jogging stroller, and pushed and carried it over near the couch. He was the only one with a blanket, lucky booger.

The sun was bright and low and casting dark shadows here and there. We spent about an hour or two getting photos of each family, the kids by themselves, all the cousins together, etc. The kids were all being silly and running around, the photographer was friendly and fun, and the wind whipped our hair. I was actually glad I hadn't spent much time on it.

It was not a picture perfect day like I envisioned. However, it was a fun day. My sister-in-law informed me that because of the conditions, the photographer was offering another photo shoot for free at a different location and a different time of the day. The photographer confirmed the offer when the she delivered our photo CD a week later apologizing about the lighting in the photos. I was sufficiently prepared to be disappointed, and a bit distraught about needing to corral my family again.

I loaded the CD onto my laptop and began scrolling through the photos. At first, I was like, yeah, I see what they mean. There were dark areas and washed out areas in some of the photos. The glare of the low sun caused the lighting to not be balanced. Details and colors were lost in the shadows here and there or overexposed in other places. At first I thought, yeah, maybe they could be better.

But I kept looking at them. And yes, maybe this batch of photos were not gallery perfect, and we were not model subjects. However, they captured a moment in time that included lots of memories of that day spent with family, a cop showing up, hurdling barbed wire. The more I looked at them, the more I didn't want them to be different, changed, or replaced. They were, instead, perfectly editorial.

In some photos the kids were smiling and laughing. But in some a couple of us looked uncomfortable. Austin was happy and supported in his brace. And then he wasn't. Patrick and I were trying not to be swallowed up by the couch, our knees almost as high as our chins. But, we were all together in one place, in one photo, making it work.

Just like our life.

Sometimes life's difficult events seem so daunting that I want to call in and cancel. But even though life circumstances may not go just how I envision, the hard times always end up endurable at the worst and surmountable at best. They may not be gallery-worthy and something pretty to look at, but they are definitely editorial and worth remembering.

A Public Thank You Note

I felt the onslaught of distressing emotions coming over me so I hurriedly excused myself. I quickly made my way to my hotel room before I ugly cried in front of everyone. A mix of exhaustion, fear, and feelings of uselessness overwhelmed me again, and I don't remember how, but my sister-in-law noticed or was made aware of my quick escape and came knocking on my door. With apprehension and mistrust, I called out to her to come in.

In my mind, my sister-in-law and I were more acquaintances than friends or family. I didn't feel like we had much in common, and had decided ahead of time we probably wouldn't or couldn't be close friends. I excel at making snap judgements like that.

For example, my sister-in-law has incredible style and always looks put together compared to my own disheveled, frumpy look. My sister-in-law has amazingly smooth hair compared to my own unruly, puffy mess. My sister-in-law looks athletic, thin, and tall compared to my own short, squatty stature.  My sister-in-law feels comfortable in heels where I prefer comfort, period. My sister-in-law has a confident, welcoming smile where my smile is often offered along with a fear of encouraging a relationship I don't have an extrovert's energy for.

My sister-in-law has a gift of public speaking; she can speak almost off the cuff, coherently and with authority, in front of large audiences without seeming to need to refer to notes compared to my own emotionally choked, public speaking attempts that force me to have to read what I want to say. My sister-in-law has the gift of hospitality; she can easily welcome strangers into her home for a meal or a place to stay compared to my own selfish desire for privacy and fears of being inconvenienced. My sister-in-law has been called to women's ministry and leadership compared to my own not being sure of what my calling might be and desire, more often than not, to hide behind the scenes.

So as my sister-in-law came through the door, I knew she came not only as a family member or friend, but in the capacity of women's minister with an offer to council and pray with me in my distress. However, my apprehension and mistrust came from feeling like my sister-in-law could not possibly minister to me because my sister-in-law has not had to endure my challenging life experiences. In all my comparisons, I also considered (unfairly) that my sister-in-law's life trials have been easier than mine so I braced myself to feel no comfort whatsoever from her words. How could my sister-in-law possibly understand what I was going through when she had never walked in my shoes?

But my sister-in-law did minister to me. And I know she did it even though she was tired and emotionally spent from the work of the week, too. She entered my room with humility and compassion; she brought encouragement and comfort. She may not have walked in my shoes, but I know she tries to walk daily in the Word, something I have trouble remembering to do and could do better to follow her example. My sister-in-law brought words of Truth that did not need to be learned from life experiences.

That day I felt more than just being my sister-in-law's acquaintance. I felt my sister-in-law's friendship, and more importantly like I had a real sister, a family member, and a mentor in Christ.

Thank you for taking time for me, Mindy. I obviously haven't forgotten. And sorry I'm not good at saying these things in person and instead wrote it publicly. As my brother, your husband, seems to say a lot, "It's easier to just do it now, and ask forgiveness later." (Or something like that!)

P.S. Mindy has her own blog where she writes her thoughts occasionally (armslinkingarms.wordpress.com), but I would say her real gifts involve teaching, encouraging, and proclaiming scripture to women either one-on-one or in a public speaking format.

Sharing Jesus 'In Spite Of ' Fear {Catanduva 2015: Part 3}

{Catanduva 2015: Part 2}

"I need someone at the eye glasses station," the mission leader called out, "People have started lining up." 

She looked around and realized only she and one other gal were standing there. She thought, Ok, no big deal, I can hand out eye glasses.

But when she crossed the street, she found they didn't need someone to hand out reading glasses and sunglasses, they needed someone to sit under the canopy with an interpreter and present the gospel to the people wanting the free glasses. They started assembling plastic chairs in a circle. Lots of chairs.

What?! Not now. Not today. She wasn't ready!

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Earlier that morning, she had been invited to go door to door with the pastor's wife who also happened to be her sister-in-law. Not ready to speak out loud, she watched in awe and with a little bit of jealousy, as this gal called out to people in their yard, smiled and easily struck up conversations. 

Questions asked. Answers given. The gospel presented. Prayers for salvation lifted up. Prayer requests shared and prayed over. Hugs given. Invitations to the church extended. 

She stood in the background at each home and prayed for the people under her breath, that their hearts would be soft and open, that the enemy would be bound. It was the only thing she felt confident in doing. 

This afternoon, she thought. I'll go door to door. I'll try to speak this afternoon. But as they say, the best laid plans... (or something like that).

So here she was in the afternoon attempting to "boldly" share the gospel with not just one person at a time, but groups of people, sometimes up to 6-8 at a time! This was not what she thought she signed up for. But apparently it was what God was going to ask of her. 

She trudged through the afternoon, not confidently, but obediently, secretly hoping the interpreter was fixing all of her mistakes. She knew she left out parts here and there, but she had to trust the gaps were filled in, if not by the interpreter, then at least by the Holy Spirit!

She usually asked if they knew about the new church building and then she asked for prayer requests. Many who were obviously broken hearted over trials in their lives would become emotional. Her heart could relate to those people. She's experienced brokenness and despair, and she found praying and sharing the gospel with those people seemed almost easy. She felt their need. She felt them seeking assurance.

----------

A couple days later, she found herself under the canopy again. The groups seemed a little smaller so she thought, I've done this before, this will be easy.

But this day turned out to be more difficult than the previous one. She got in a hurry and rushed through the steps. She stumbled over her words. Her thoughts were not coherent. She lost her place several times. She felt the interpreter was losing patience with her. She was frustrated and just before she let the tears flow, she desperately called someone over to take her place, and then walked quickly away from the booth.

What had happened? Why was today so different? This was too hard. They have asked the wrong person to do this. Someone got their wires crossed.

She sought out the hiding place behind the buildings as she did the other day, but there was already another friend of hers there. She had heard about this friend's boldness in sharing the gospel in the neighborhood the past few days. The thought that she was such a failure compared to this friend was intimidating, but the friend merely patted the dirt and invited her to sit down. Before she knew it, she was confessing all her fears and anxieties about the day to the friend, and the friend calmly prayed with her and assured her that her efforts were not in vain. 

Later she felt led to read the Book of Ruth.

----------

The next afternoon, she had the opportunity to accompany her son in a group that was going to a "tough" neighborhood. This would be his first door to door experience and she wanted to witness it! The friend from the day before was also coming with the group.

They were told they would just be handing out tracts and inviting people to the church. But as she and her friend rounded a corner, they came upon a woman sitting on the sidewalk. They were advised she was possibly drunk. As the interpreters began to talk to the woman, another woman and two teenage girls joined them. 

Then the interpreters turned to her and her friend and asked if they wanted to say anything. Her friend looked at her and said with a smile, "Do the cube." (The cube was referred to as the "magic cube" because of how it unfolded showing various pictures. At each unfolding, it contained the next step in the plan of salvation.) As horror overtook her, she obediently "did the cube". When she was done, they all stared silently at each other as she was at a loss for what to do next. Her friend whispered to share some scriptures from the Bible, but fear enveloped her, and she looked at the friend pleadingly and asked the friend to do it instead.

What she witnessed next was profound, and something she hopes she will never forget. The friend easily guided the women and girls though the steps of salvation based upon scripture. The women began to ask the friend hard questions about the friend's life to which the friend answered truthfully. They made a heart connection, and tears began to flow from one of the women. Because of the friend's honesty and openness, hearts were softened, prayers for salvation were lifted up, and lives were probably changed.

----------

Since returning from the trip and as she reflected on these various scenarios, trying to make sense of it all, sorting out her emotions, she realized that there were at least three things she could take away from these experiences.

1. She needed those opportunities of following behind friends that were more experienced and bold. She wasn't sure why she was led to read the Book of Ruth, but she thinks that like Ruth gleaned behind the harvesters who made it easy for her to bring home food, she needed to see her sister-in-law and her friend's examples and have the opportunity to reap along with them as they harvested. 
2. Making a personal heart connection with people seemed to be the key to making sharing the gospel flow more easily. On the first day, when she knew where they were hurting, she could pray and connect with them better. On the second day, when she skipped the conversation part and rushed through the steps, she lost her way.
3. She better be prayed up and in the Word because the enemy was going to make her second guess herself and feel shame and humiliation, if not immediately afterwards, then within hours. Every experience where she had been the one talking had been followed by a torrent of tears and a feeling of remorse. The accuser is very good at his job.

One day Ruth, the Moabite foreigner, said to Naomi, “I’m going to work; I’m going out to glean among the sheaves, following after some harvester who will treat me kindly.”Naomi said, “Go ahead, dear daughter.”And so she set out. She went and started gleaning in a field, following in the wake of the harvesters. Ruth 2 MSG

-----------

"For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23). 

"For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 6:23) 

"The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him and said, “Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!'" (John 1:29). 

"Jesus answered, 'I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me'" (John 14:6). 

"That if you confess with your mouth, 'Jesus is Lord,' and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you confess and are saved. As the Scripture says, 'Anyone who trusts in him will never be put to shame'" (Romans 10:9-11). 

"And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again" (2 Corinthians 5:15). 

"Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me" (Revelation 3:20).

Are you a sinner?

Do you want forgiveness of your sins?

Do you believe Jesus Christ died on the cross for you and rose again?

Are you willing to surrender your life to Jesus Christ?

Are  you ready to invite Jesus Christ into your life and into your heart?

"Heavenly Father, I have sinned against you.  I want forgiveness for all my sins.  I believe that Jesus died on the cross for me and rose again.  Father, I give you my life to do with as you wish.  I want Jesus Christ to come into my life and into my heart.  This I ask in Jesus' name.  Amen"

Share Jesus Without Fear, William Fay, published by Broadman & Holman Publishers, Nashville, TN.

The Mary/Martha Tug of War {Catanduva 2015: Part 2}

{Catanduva 2015: Part 1}

Emotionally drained from having been thrown into the fire of evangelizing the day before and feeling somewhat unsuccessful at that, she got up the next morning, dressed in her $5 Goodwill jeans and old gray t-shirt, and determined she would work on the church building that day.

However, those familiar feelings of inadequacy consumed her as she walked around the building site looking for something to do. Not sure of where to jump in, she filled the downtime by taking pictures of everyone else working. Everyone busy. Everyone seeming to have a purpose.

She had traveled halfway across the globe to be a part of this so if she wasn't busy, she or others might question her purpose for being there (or send her out to evangelize - yes, she may have been hiding out that day). But in the end, her fear of failure and not wanting to impose herself on those who didn't seem to need any help kept her desire to work on the building in check. She told herself to be content to keep record of other's endeavors, knowing they would be grateful to see their efforts documented. But still she ached to be assigned a task.

Then finally! Someone asked her to do something. She had a purpose. She would be busy for Jesus today and everybody would see it! (hello pride...) But no sooner had she started working on this project, than she was flocked by others also looking for something to do and a need to feel useful. They asked to help, and soon she felt she should delegate the project to them and walk away.

It was emotionally difficult. She struggled with letting go of the ownership she had already taken for the project and wanting credit for doing something that day vs. giving the project away to others that were obviously feeling the same way she had felt all morning.

Useless.

What a horrible feeling. She wanted to cry so she hid out behind the back buildings. She took out her cell phone, called her husband, and cried on his virtual shoulder. He assured her that she had a purpose, that her traveling there would not be in vain. They talked about what her gifts were, and how she had already started using them. They talked about her ongoing struggle between her desire to be in the limelight and get noticed and credit versus her competing desire to hide in the background and just be a support system to others.

So eventually she changed her attitude. Instead of "doing" for Jesus, she would sit at his feet. She would just be there. She would absorb the experience through others. She would not seek out a job. She would support and document everyone's work. She would listen to their excitement and frustrations. She would encourage their efforts. She would smile when not feeling like smiling. She would submit her will and expectations for that day to perhaps what God willed for her instead.

And she found rest. And joy.

The remainder of the afternoon turned out to be one of the most fun and fulfilling days of the week. She made new friends. She talked, giggled and joked while trying to learn and understand Portuguese. She was just present, listening, smiling, and taking in the experience. She was even offered several opportunities to learn some of the building skills even though her efforts did not achieve the desired results. Everyone was lighthearted. Everyone laughed. She had won the tug of war in her heart today.

The Master said, “Martha, dear Martha, you’re fussing far too much and getting yourself worked up over nothing. One thing only is essential, and Mary has chosen it—it’s the main course, and won’t be taken from her.” Luke 10:38-42 MSG

{Catanduva 2015: Part 3}

An Exercise in Saying Yes {Catanduva 2015: Part 1}

Exhaustion set in as the plane bounced onto the tarmac, wing flaps fully extended, its engines roaring in an effort to slow down the large mass of metal. Her flight time had totaled about 15-16 hours in addition to a previous 6 hour bus ride. She was returning from the opposite side of the equator, from a place called Catanduva, São Paulo, Brazil. Catanduva's winter, similar in temperatures to those in Arizona, was just coming to an end, warm for the most part, downright hot under the sun, with shade offering respite in the afternoon.

This past week. Was it a dream? She experienced it, yet it didn't seem like real life, more like a movie, surreal. Facebook photos and a renewed outlook, the only proof that it had actually occurred.

Ten days ago she traveled to Catanduva with her sixteen year old son and a group of adults from her church. When the mission leader first visited and spoke about the opportunity for their congregation to take part in this mission project in Brazil, her heart beat wildly in her chest; she almost couldn't breathe. She peeked down the row at her teenage son and thought for sure this was an opportunity he needed to experience. With his own expression of desire to possibly go into the ministry someday, she assumed what she was feeling in her body was the call to sign him up. However, a week later, when the feeling didn't go away, and after she asked her husband if he wanted to go, she submitted to the call herself and signed up too.

Their mission: erect a new building for a local church as well as share the gospel with the surrounding community.

• Erect a new building with very little construction skills? No problem. No fear.
• Share the gospel with others when her own life is not the best example of a life continuously rooted in Jesus? That might be a problem. Extreme fear.

The last time she remembered having actually presented the gospel to someone was 25-30 years earlier when she was in high school. At that time, she had been part of a church youth group that stressed evangelism and sharing Christ with others, and while attending the youth group's discipleship studies, she was repeatedly encouraged to share her faith.

She had grown up in a suburban, sheltered environment, accepted Christ into her life at a young age, was surrounded by strong Christian influences, and was easily bold in her faith and sure of her salvation. Life was not difficult, the burden really did seem light.

Until college. Even though she tried to recreate the same environment she had left behind by joining Christian groups and attending church, she just didn't feel a strong connection at first with the Christians on campus. The loneliness from being so far from friends and home led her to hang out with anyone who would accept her into their circle. Her Christian walk became quite "zig-zaggy".

During her first year of college, she was more concerned with her own feelings of acceptance than anyone's spiritual destiny, not speaking of her beliefs with someone unless she was sure they already believed the same. And while she would walk the straight and narrow for a while even if lonely, temptation for friendships and acceptance would take her off the path for a time until she felt compelled to redirect her spiritual life again. This became a habit that continued for years even after she was married, had kids, and good friendships. She used God's grace as a safety net rather than recognizing it as the true gift of salvation and a place to rest.

And while God was patient with her through all those years, perhaps even holding back the dam of consequences that she should have incurred, she felt guilt for the many mistakes she had made along the way. Over time, she felt she wouldn't have much influence if she were to share her faith with someone, telling them they need to turn to God when she could not stay faithful to Him herself. She felt it would be hypocritical, the plank in her own eye was too large for her to remove in order to ever help anyone with the speck in theirs. So as her condemnation for herself increased so did her apathy towards others. They were on their own.

But then God either quit holding back the dam of consequences, or he just got tired of her apathetic attitude. Either way, in recent years, God has allowed more tests and trials than she ever thought she could handle. In the midst of these challenges, she has questioned God, gotten angry at God, cried out to God, begged for mercy from God. She wanted to run or escape, but he wouldn't let her. He continually pursued her until she finally had to give in. She was miserable while she fought, and only experienced peace and freedom once she submitted.

So she said yes to going to Brazil even though she felt she had nothing spiritually to offer. She had no plan for what she would do there, but she went with the attitude that she would say "yes" to whatever someone asked her to do. Secretly she hoped she could just work on the building, and it would all be easy. She was totally ok with that.

But God was not ok with that. The building had plenty of workers. Workers with skill and strength she did not possess. So while she said "yes" to any building opportunity offered such as moving concrete blocks or trying her hand at scattering mud on the wall, to attempting to trowel on the stucco, to standing on a precariously perched scaffold to paint the outside wall of the church, or just sweeping the floor and picking up trash, God also had people ask her to go on prayer walks, share the gospel with groups of people as they came to the free eyeglass station, and walk the streets to share the gospel with people in the neighborhood.

She said "yes" to all of it as best she could. Her personality compels her to let others lead if they seem to have more experience or confidence, but in the end sometimes there just wasn't anyone else around, or she had someone with her that knew about and seemed intent on pushing her to overcome her feelings of inadequacy.

She cannot tell you in numbers how many she lead to Christ or prayed with for healing, for their families, for their financial situations. She cannot tell you why she felt compelled repeatedly to pray specifically for peace and comfort and for the Holy Spirit to rain down his presence among these people.

All she knows is that she had one job to do; the job to submit and say "yes" to God.

{Catanduva 2015: Part 2}

Freedom is Slavery

"Winston, sitting in a blissful dream, paid no attention as his glass was filled up. He was not running or cheering any longer. He was back in the Ministry of Love, with everything forgiven, his soul white as snow. He was in the public dock, confessing everything, implicating everybody. He was walking down the white-tiled corridor, with the feeling of walking in sunlight, and an armed guard at his back. The longhoped-for bullet was entering his brain. 

He gazed up at the enormous face. Forty years it had taken him to learn what kind of smile was hidden beneath the dark moustache. O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn, self-willed exile from the loving breast! Two gin-scented tears trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won the victory over himself. He loved Big Brother."

She reaches out her hand and pushes the power button on the audio system in the minivan while the final words of George Orwell's 1984 still linger in the air. Sitting in silence, she holds her breath while she tries to process her thoughts.

Could God use a supposed atheist's political thriller to reach me? To illustrate His jealousy for me? To give me clarity about His nature and desire for me? To help me discover the spiritual freedom I've been searching for?

----------

She started listening to the audio recording of the novel about a month and a half ago during the two hour round trip drive to the Foundation for Blind Children.

Her 15 year old high schooler had suggested she read it as he was also reading it for class. She's not sure what his motive was for wanting her to read 1984, but she does know he has strong moral convictions and political opinions, and he hates she claims not to care about what is going on in the world, she says she would rather be uninformed, and she declares she has enough to deal with in her own life and can't do anything about the rest of the world anyway. She chalks his disapproval up to his idealism or naiveté; he still thinks he can change the world because he has little experience of how life can cruelly change him.

Based upon some vague idea of what she thought the book was about, it began somewhat as expected with the main character, Winston, struggling with his rebellious thoughts against the government and seeking to record them in a journal. She relates somewhat to this since she has done the same with her own rebellious thoughts and questions about God. The novel sounds instantly familiar, and she starts listening to the book through the filter of her own spiritual struggle with God rather than identifying with the main character's thoughts of resistance against an earthly government. 

As the novel plays out, there are several other events, themes or ideas that seem relatable to her spiritual struggle, and she contemplates their relevance or similarity to ideas or teachings in the Bible**. Specifically, she can't quit thinking about Freedom is Slavery and the fact that a party member must love Big Brother before they would be allowed to die.

She shocks herself with the following thoughts:

God is Big Brother. His kingdom is totalitarian. He commands submission. He commands worship for Him only. He commands love for Him first before all others. He promises freedom and a new life. I must love Him before I can "die". How do I know if I love Him? Is it a feeling? Is it just an acknowledgement and repeated mantra? Can it be a feeling? 

She really wants it to be a feeling. She wants to experience Winston's blissful dream, the moment she can be unaware of all hardships and only in tune with love for God. She aches for the aforementioned longhoped-for bullet to the brain.

Like Winston, her circumstances and emotions have led her to become desperate for an escape. Like Winston, loving and being loved by another human is not enough; two flawed beings will always find a way to disappoint each other whether intentional or not. Like Winston, she yearns for freedom. Like Winston, she is becoming aware that freedom might have a different definition than what she assumed. Like Winston, her flesh rebels against the Authority. Like Winston, she can only see what the Authority appears to be taking away. Like Winston, the choice is being made for her.

Freedom is Slavery. To obtain freedom, she must choose slavery. But that goes against logic; it's doublethink.

Have human attempts at totalitarian governments resulting in evil atrocities caused me to think that there cannot be a supernatural totalitarian kingdom that results in perfection and love? What if God/Christ is the perfect Big Brother? What if His totalitarian kingdom could actually produce peace and freedom for me if I could just submit to His will? My flesh rebels against God like Winston rebels against Big Brother. How do I fight the cravings of the flesh and submit to God's will? 

As she ponders these questions, a quiet voice whispers to her heart.

*Disclaimer: This story is about the effect a literary work of art made on the reader/writer. It is not meant to be a theological dissertation nor an analytical book review, but another glimpse into the writer's spiritual journey and her relationship to God at this time in her life. Please no haters if her words offend your ideas about Christianity or if, to you, they are completely off base. She realizes she could be wrong, but fortunately or unfortunately, this is how God is having church with her today.

**Thought Police and Big Brother is Watching You, doublethink, thoughtcrime, Two Minutes Hate, torture, physical suffering, mind control, brainwashing, and indoctrination, no family loyalties allowed, War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery, Ignorance is Strength, Must love Big Brother before death

The Hike

Even though her calves are burning, and her desire is somewhat nonexistent, she pushes on, takes forks she’s never taken, gets a little lost and ends up in an area she hasn’t hiked before. She only planned an hour, but it takes her at least an hour and half because of the detour.

She has learned to enjoy hiking in the desert mountain preserves. It has become something she usually looks forward to. Time to herself, time outside, time to think, time to be quiet. 

About a year before, she began driving her youngest son 3-4 days a week to a preschool for blind children. And while the drive forced her to get out of the house, a blessing in itself, it also meant she would be on the highway for an hour every morning and every afternoon. And since she couldn't bring herself to drive an additional two hours all the way home and back to school after dropping him off, she decided to investigate ways to spend her time on that side of town.

At first, she went to McDonalds, or Starbucks or Chick-fil-A, but usually McDonalds, buy something that wasn't good for her and use their air conditioning and free wifi. But after a while, her waistline protested. Or her clothes did. Anyway, it wasn't working out.

She also tried shopping. Not go-to-the-store-because-you-have-a-list-and-need-something shopping, but go-to-the-store-and-browse-to-see-what-you-need shopping. Target, Costco, the mall, etc....all within a 10 minute drive of the school, and she could always find something she needed. This time, however, it wasn't her waistline protesting, but her bank account. (Although, there are definitely some tasty eats in those places so maybe the waistline was making noise too).

Forced to start looking for free, low calorie things to do, she began to split her time between public parks and public libraries depending on the weather and her mood. Both had things going for them. The parks had shade or sun and the sounds of nature, a cooling breeze or warm heat during certain months, an opportunity to hike up a trail or take a nap under a tree. The library had free air conditioning, free wifi, usually a quiet atmosphere (depending on if there was a children's book reading there on that day or not which usually resulted in screaming and crying children for about an hour before it started), and clean bathrooms. Sometimes she did both in one day.

On this particular morning, she decided to hike for an hour and end with a trip to the library. The sky was blue, the air warm and cool at the same time, morning temperatures ambient, literally perfect conditions.

As she climbed out of the car after luckily scoring one of the few remaining parking spaces, she could tell the hike was not going to be easy. It had been a while, and her legs were being lazy. She even struggled to convince her mind it was a good idea. She rubbed a little sunscreen on her neck and chest, put on sunglasses (she had accidentally left her hat at home), grabbed her bottle of lukewarm "iced" tea and phone, checked to make sure her valuables were at least underneath something, and closed the car door. She pressed the lock button on her key fob twice to make the car horn honk, ensuring it was locked.

She put her keys in her left pocket and her phone in her right. She carried her tea bottle with two fingers from her right hand and headed to the path leading to the trail. No earphones, no music, no audio book. Just the sound of her feet on the rocks and dirt.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. She loves the methodic sound of her shoes on the gravel, the scratching scurry of a lizard across her path, the panicked rustle of birds in the scrubby shrubs, the occasional sound of voices in the distance assuring her while she is alone, she is not alone. 

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. She knows as she walks on this rough, loose, uneven gravel, and in other places over the hard, weathered, tilted sharp bed rock that her balance is being improved. She pays attention to how her body responds to the misstep of a foot or the slight twisting of an ankle as her system accommodates the terrain. She might be sore the first few days back, but her body will recover and be stronger the more consistently she returns. All the little turns and twists in her feet translate up her body working minute muscles here and there. Everything working together to keep her on her feet.

She has a preference for this particular desert mountain preserve. She feels strangely safe here over other places. She can be alone and not see anyone for most of the hike even though the parking lot is full. She has felt calm and happy here, as well as sad or angry. She has felt peace that can't be understood, and she has worked through raging emotions. She has confronted God here. And He has confronted her.

She thinks about how this past year her life has been a series of rough and tumble missteps, how she has tripped and recovered over and over again. Her ability to regain her emotional balance improving with time and practice. While not knowing when the next patch of gravel might slide out from under her or a sharp rock might throw her off her path, she feels more confident now than before that she might be ok.

A Breakthrough In Group

I've decided to post this here as a reminder to myself, a sort of looking back, building an alter, and thanking God for a past deliverance. A meeting with my pastor was set up by my husband after he witnessed a day of despair in me where I spoke openly of giving up, not that I think I would ever actually do anything more drastic than talk, but apparently enough that he felt I needed more help than he could give me. This is the email I wrote my pastor several days later:

"I've been wanting to share with you something that came from our meeting. It was a very exciting "revelation" for me, if you will (or as I've been calling it "a break through in group"), and I shared it with my husband after a couple days thinking about it, also telling him I was going to email you too. I wanted to write my thoughts down to document them as well as let y'all be involved in reminding me because I know Satan will try to get me to forget and go back to my old way of thinking. However I kept putting off writing, and now I'm starting to have to fight to remember. The old voice in my mind, and unfortunately, [a family member's] voice are still strong and continue to try to convince me otherwise.

What I found so freeing (literally, in a mountain top high kind of way) came from our discussion about our personalities, and being reminded that I had always identified most with the melancholy trait. However, I had always thought of it as the negative trait (as I think society does too since it tries to medicate everyone who feels deeply), and I have wished, prayed, and tried hard to be one of the others. 

But then you pointed out that David and Moses had melancholy personality traits, and I've been mulling that over ever since (I really don't remember much else that we talked about that day). If God loved David and Moses and was able to use them despite the melancholy trait then perhaps that trait is not a curse after all. Unfortunately, I have been told and the seeds have been planted since I was a kid that "depression runs in our family" and "I pray you don't get it" and "you'll probably need antidepressants like I did" and "I hope your kids don't get this". I have believed that the deep sadness and/or angry emotions I feel over circumstances and injustices is wrong and is a sickness. But now, I believe that God is revealing to me that that is a lie (and yes, I'm almost crying as I write this b/c it saddens me so much that I have spent so much of my life listening to these curses whispered in my ear). He made me this way, and it is a blessing and a gift, not a curse. If I were to write poetry right now, Psalm 18 (specifically the Message version) would sum it up.

So there you go. You may have had a totally different direction you thought you were leading me, and there is probably more to be gleaned from future discussions, but I believe the Holy Spirit led you, whether consciously or unconsciously, to say those things to me. So, thank you."

"The hangman’s noose was tight at my throat;
    devil waters rushed over me.
Hell’s ropes cinched me tight;
    death traps barred every exit.
A hostile world! I call to God,
    I cry to God to help me.
From his palace he hears my call;
    my cry brings me right into his presence—
    a private audience!" Psalm 18:4-6 (MSG)

Queasy

Her stomach keeps doing flip flops. Since last week's decision, they've made an offer on a house and have signed a contract. Next week will be the inspection and appraisal. They've spoken with a realtor and will be putting their current house on the market soon. Things are moving so fast now. She's excited and scared at the same time, making her stomach queasy.

She felt the same when 21 years ago, she and her husband decided to go ahead and get married within a few months of getting engaged instead of waiting three to four years until they graduated from college. She remembers lying on her a parent's living room carpet, listening as her parents and future husband discussed the possibility of not postponing the inevitable.

The waves come and go. The panic is kept at bay if she keeps busy, taking the steps necessary to accomplish the final goal. Or when she sleeps. But it floods over her when she just stops to rest or lets her mind dwell on the seemingly overwhelming task of getting everything done.

Winds of Change

Another cold winter day in Montana. The sun is bright for a change, but the temperature is down right frosty in her opinion. No desire to venture outside for errands or entertainment so she spends another day either playing with the baby on the floor or browsing around on the computer on the couch. Occasionally she gets up to get the older kids food or to do a chore because she knows she should, but it's hard to get outside of her head.

She thinks too much. Her mind is a steady stream of noise that won't stop. Not even for a second. Her thirteen year old son tells her boys have a "nothing box" where they go in their minds and think about absolutely nothing. She googled that because who can trust what a thirteen year old says, but according to the internet, he's right. Girls don't have one. And that sucks. She wants one. No, she needs one.

Change. She hates change, but it's coming. This past weekend she and her husband have decided to "go all in" in a direction they believe God has been leading them. They have had hints of how it might work out, but kept putting off the decision, waiting for "doors to open".  They had one foot here and one foot there with lots of contingency plans to back out at any minute.

"But what more information do you need?" her brother, who also happens to be in the counseling business as an associate pastor, asked her husband. "God is leading you to do something so my advice is to do it - I keep getting the feeling while we are talking that God is telling y'all to 'go all in'."

Crap. That is scary as all get out. But in some sense, once they made the decision, she felt waves of relief. Relief to finally have a direction, to be off the fence. It fits into her desire to learn to live in the present, not five years in the past or five years down the road, but the now. And she can do a direction. Set her mind on a goal, problem solve, make it happen.

But that doesn't mean she likes it.

Change, that is.