Please Help!

Noah has been (horse) riding with a local therapy center for three years now.  I can't even begin to put into words what this center has done not just for Noah, but for our entire family--and really, I can't even talk about it without breaking down in tears.  Rainbow is such an amazing, incredible place, filled with amazing, incredible people and horses.  We owe so much to this place.

When Noah was first diagnosed, we went through OT, PT, speech therapy, social skills therapy, counseling--and none of it worked.  None of it captured Noah's interest or held his attention.  They were all things we were making him do.  Frustrated, I emailed a friend from church, knowing she rides, and asked her if she could tell me of any local equine therapy centers.  As God would have it, she was an instructor at the very one where Noah is!  I don't believe in luck here, this was all God, the way things have fallen into place, and just worked so well in Noah's favor.  Miss J worked so hard to establish Noah with another instructor who appreciates Noah's abilities, and she also established him with scholarships.  Tuition for equine therapy is by no means cheap, and it has not always been affordable for us.  We are beyond grateful to be part of the scholarship program.

To see Noah successful, naturally successful--I don't know how to explain it.  He struggled for so long with so much, but from the very first time he was on a horse (Molly was his first!), he was just born to do it.  The horse is a mere extension of Noah, both of working together, sensing each other, and just being.  Not only is Noah riding, but he has also begun working on horsemanship (groundwork, think: horse whispering).  These horses seem to grasp the extraordinary value of themselves and the work they do, and everyone there, from the administrators and board of directors, to the instructors and volunteers, is there for the kids.  It's all about the riders, and what's best for them.  I have seen children with delays learn to spell from on top of a horse, children with balance and coordination problems ride without help, nonverbal children speak--and just so much more.

So--my point to all of this--Noah has a fun show coming up in June, a chance to show off his skills and win some ribbons!  Noah, and Rainbow, need your help!  Rainbow is non-profit, and needs all the fundraising it can get.  If you are looking for a worthwhile place to donate your money, I am asking you to consider doing so to Rainbow in Noah's honor.  If you own your own business/company and would like to sponsor Noah, or a specific show class, you can do that as well!  You can go straight to their website, and donate through their website:
http://rainbowriding.org


Last year's fun show:  Noah won two ribbons from his show classes!

Here are two forms you can also use as reference, and a mailing address.

THANK YOU is not enough--but, THANK YOU, for your donation and consideration.  We are incredibly grateful!

The Furr Family

Light it up Blue for Autism Awareness

Did you know that April is Autism Awareness Month?  Or that Autism Speaks runs a "Light it up Blue for Autism" campaign on April 2 of every year.

The past few years, I've meant to do April big, to do it in style, and to do April 2 especially big.  Being who I am, I don't usually remember to start looking for a blue porch light until March 31, though--and we have yet to find one that fits our porch light.  This year it hit me--blue Christmas lights!  Duh.  I not only found string lights, but replacement bulbs that fit our porch light.  Go me!

I also paid a visit to the online Autism Speaks store, and I bought a 'few' more things for this special day, and the entire month, including a yard sign, should our neighbors think we have gone completely off our rockers, putting up Christmas lights in April.

Then I realized--I forgot to ask Noah if this was all okay with him.  We live on a street with several of his (not so nice) classmates.  Our neighborhood is full of kids he goes to school with, and rides the bus with.  We've talked about how to tell people, what to say, and when to say it--but I don't really know how many of his schoolmates know about his Aspergers.

What I learned from Noah made me very proud of my little blue light special (family joke!).  He said to me, "Mom, they need to deal with it.  I am who I am, and I'm not going to be embarrassed, or let them make me feel bad about it.  It's up to me and our family to raise awareness for the kids who can't."

And with that, folks, we are LIGHTING IT UP BLUE FOR AUTISM!

Handmade, Tattered and Worn

I have these pillowcases.  They are quite precious to me.  It started out as a sensory thing, as a child, probably about Noah's age.  I found them in the back of our linen closet, and discovered the story behind them: My great-grandmother had made them by hand.  The first one was more of a tablecloth, I think my mother said--I remember the pattern, a "12 Days of Christmas" theme.  The second was a pillowcase, the edging was baby blue, with gray kittens all over it.  They were so soft, and had these hand-sewn edges I would rub as comfort.  Even now, I can still remember the texture, the feeling of the cloth between my fingers.

I remember, after having children of my own, finding a dusty, dingy cloth in my grandmother's dusting cloths, and immediately knowing the texture and handcraft.  I remember my grandmother saying, "Well, it will take quite a bit of washing to get them clean, but if you want my dust rags, you can have them!"  I remember the musical sound of her giggle, astonished that I found such glory among rags.  I remember being just as astonished that she had deemed them rags.

As an adult, I have wandered through antique store after store, fingering such linens, in hopes of finding such treasures as the ones I found in my childhood linen closet, my husband and I shouting out to each other, "I found one!"

Most of these treasures are in tatters now.  As worn as they are, I still cling to them.  I keep them in my nightstand.  The two I have left are showing their age, but they still clothe my pillows, and I wash them with care.  I could never just throw them away.  They have traveled through life with me, through college, and marriage, and even through my children's births.  My children know the stories behind them, my husband knows their value.

And tonight, I realize...  This is me.  Tattered and worn.  Yet, my Father showcases me.  He does not store me in a drawer, or hide me away, embarrassed by my multitude of sins and mistakes.  I am hand sewn by Him, the One who made me.  I am precious to Him.  He knows my stories, He knows my value.  He knows the price, the cost, it has taken me to reach the point I am at, and the struggle it takes to just be here now.  He knows there is glory among these rags.  He knows there is more to be unveiled.   He has written my story, He has walked my journey.  He will never allow me to travel into waters unknown.  He clings to me, just as I cling to these linens.  He will never let me go.


This is me.  Tattered and worn.  But I am His.  And that is all I need.

It's 3 am I Must Be Wide Awake....

I was going to borrow shamelessly from Matchbox Twenty, and title this It's 3 am I Must Be Lonely--but with three cats, a dog, a small child, and my husband in my bed--what woman could possibly feel lonely??  Even though they're all sleeping and I'm not???

Please forgive me if I fall asleep while writing this....  Insomnia and pain are taking their toll.  I've never known which one causes the other, but they certainly go hand in hand, don't they? Throw in some anxiety and it's a party!  It seems as though the second my head hits the pillow, my brain is rushed with thoughts and cares and lists and concerns and anxieties and even, yep, blog posts that need writing.  There is a new song I've heard on the radio, and it's been very easy to 'hear' it in my head, using it as a breathing method: "Breathing in Your grace, breathing out Your praise..."  Still, there's Shawn, whose head hit the pillow exactly two hours after mine and only five minutes ago, already snoring *ahem* softly (sure, we'll use that word....), and my brain is only just getting geared up.  ADD, anyone???  So yes, there's not enough caffeine in the world right now.

I actually got laughing out loud over writing this post around midnight last night and I woke Shawn up.  Oops.....  I had it all out in my head, very tongue in cheek.  I think most of it is still there.

Normal Brain:
"Oh, it's 10 pm, I should go to sleep."   FiveFourThr..... Snore...zzzzzzzz

My Brain:
"Gosh, I've been in bed since 10 and it's midnight.  I really need to get to sleep!"

Fiiiiiiivvvvvee.......
Shawn's already snoring.  Is it really fair that I've been in bed two hours longer than him and I'm still not asleep?  I wonder if that winter weather advisory will turn into anything overnight.  Yeesh, I can't take another 5 am phone call telling us school is delayed or canceled.  Then the kids are awake and all hell breaks loose, and my day is over before it's even begun.  Wow, pain is bad tonight.  Hey, I wonder what's going on on Instagram!  No, I shouldn't turn my phone on.  Hmmm, wonder if there's anything new in the news in the last 30 minutes?  No, I shouldn't turn my phone on.  I should go take something for this pain.  Crap, I can't remember if we locked the doors.  Did I let Lilly back in?  Max is in her bed again.  Wilbur, stop growling!  It's your own tail, doofus!  I need to go find Lilly and take something for this pain.....

Fooourrrrrr......
Ugh.  Still awake.  Let's see, what's going on tomorrow?  Oh, Noah's breakfast, Avery has a make up day of school, and then swimming.  I wonder if Sharon knows about the breakfast?  I should ask her.  Wait, texting her at 2 am probably isn't such a good idea.  Breakfast with Jen, yay!  I'll get to see David.  Hmm.  I hope her back is better and heals.  I should pra--is that Wilbur growling at his tail again?  Geez cat, get a room!  And there's Max, up here because he's been ignored for 2 hours.  Just heard the cat door on Noah's door flip-flap, Jethro must be coming out for a potty and meal break.  Man, Shawn is snoring loud tonight!  I should move to the couch.  No, if I do that, I'll just throw off any chance that my eyes are already trying to rest.

Thhhhreeeee......
Hey!  Three rhymes with pee!  I should go do that.  Ugh.  Then I'll trip over the laundry baskets in the hallway.  I should do more laundry tomorrow.  And I think Noah needs to do his.  That reminds me, I need to add detergent to the list.  Oh, and I will have to go to Walmart again tomorrow.  I know I forgot a few things today.  How can I forget things when I practically live there?  Hmmm.  What else rhymes with three and pee?  Tea, bee, knee...

Twooooo......
What's that noise? Oh, it's Max purring.  In Lilly's bed.  I checked on the boys before I came to bed, but I don't know if Shawn re-checked.  I should go check on them again.  Then I can pee, fold the laundry in the hallway, write out my grocery list, and take that pain pill, too.  If I'm not going to sleep, I might as well be doing something.  Ugh.  But I don't want to get out of this warm bed!  If I'm going to be up, I should send that email.  And I forgot that board report for Chaplain Liz.  I wonder if Shawn found the stamp for that bill.  Did I pack the boys' lunches last night?  Crap, I can't remember. I should take something out of the freezer for dinner.  What to cook, what to coooookkkkk.....  Hey, cook rhymes with book....

One.
Snorrrreeee.......  WHAT WAS THAT???  Oh, great, the neighbor's rooster is already crowing.  Ugh.  It's 5:30.  Might as well go fix tea and start my day.

And that's how it begins.  The kids hear me up, and come running out.  Telling them to go back to bed does no good because they are in their rooms.  And it starts--Noah says something inappropriate, Avery copies him even after my admonishment, then Avery is bouncing on the trampoline, yelling, "DO YOU HAVE TICKETS TO THE GUN SHOW?" and singing Christmas carols at the top of his lungs, Noah is arguing about having to eat breakfast and brush his teeth...

And THAT, folks, is why I'm not funct...... zzzzzzzzz

My Friend Carol

It seems the past four years have been rife with funerals.  It takes both hands, and one foot to count them all.  I suppose this is something Shawn and I have to 'get used to' now that we are getting 'older.'  After yet another funeral this past weekend, Shawn and I remarked on them, saying it would be nice to go a while without one.

I guess God always has the last word though, doesn't He?

My friend Carol died today.  I just got the call a little while ago.

I met Carol through a Christian support group for those of us with chronic illnesses almost 10 years ago.  Being the youngest of the group, I was their 'project,' a role I never minded with them, while I would've resented it with others.  They had so much to teach me, and I had so much to learn.  I learned from these women, I learned from Carol, and I still love each and every one of them.  The lessons they taught me are lessons I still carry with me now.  I looked to them not just for illness-related advice, but maternal advice, parental advice, and day-to-day life advice.  These amazing women weren't just friends, they are family.

In some ways, Carol's death is almost a bittersweet relief.  She suffered, she was sick, she was becoming more and more disabled, and less and less independent.  Carol battled her fair share of crap, but she battled it with--beauty?  Panache?  Faith?  Goodwill? All of the above, and more.  That doesn't mean she didn't have bad days, and didn't complain, but she was always faithful to God through it all, grateful for what she did have.   She won a battle against addiction, only to have her body fail her, revolting against her with so many autoimmune diseases.  These past few years, as her body declined further, so did her mind.  Her son, a few years younger than me, moved in with her a few years ago and has been taking full-time care of her ever since.  She leaves behind adult children, and grandchildren, and so many friends.  Her oldest granddaughter, whom she loved dearly--her eyes truly sparkled when she spoke of her--was truly the apple of her eye.  These past few years, she was recognizing people less and less.  Even when I saw her in the store, on the street, anywhere in public, standing right there in front of her, I missed her.

One of the things we had in common was being fired from our teaching jobs because our bodies just couldn't do the work required.  She was a brilliant elementary school teacher who loved her students dearly.  Losing her job was a crushing blow; when I joined the support group, she was the one who talked me through my own crushing job loss.  Carol was more than a friend, she was a mentor to me, mentoring me about how to be sick, and even more importantly, how not to be sick.  "Don't let this beat you, Amy," she'd say.  I don't know if I ever thanked her for the role she played in my life, the role she played in my survival.  I remember how she laughed, such a hearty laugh--not laughing at me, but laughing with me, even though I wasn't able to laugh at myself at the time--after our group meeting was over one day, we were just talking, and me, still relatively new to motherhood, confessed, "I'm not the world's best mom.  I'm terrible.  I'm awful, I'm horrible.  I don't deserve to be Noah's mom."  I remember how she, and the rest of the group (all seasoned moms), erupted into hysterical laughter.  Not mean laughter, but oh-honey-we've-been-there laughter.  Carol covered my hand with her own and said, "Sweetie, and the rest of us are?!?!?!  The rest of us do deserve to be moms???"  Once the laughter subsided, each friend shared their own maternal horror stories with me, and I was able to relax.  I wasn't alone, in more ways than one. She was always so patient with me when I was being pouty and obstinate and angry, and so patient with Noah when I had to bring him along to our group meetings.  I will always remember the look on her face, and how we all rejoiced, when I was able to finally announce Avery's pregnancy.  I'm quite certain they knew before I did, and there wasn't a dry eye at our table.  I remember passing newborn Avery around our table, the way Carol looked at him with such love.  

Carol was beautiful.  Another thing I learned from her: no matter how bad the day, a little lipstick can fix almost anything.  Always dressed to the nines, Carol took care of herself, her hair always perfectly coifed, her make up perfectly in place, her smile a mile long, her laughter hearty, her hugs at the ready, even when they hurt.  From the outside, except for her cane, then her walker, and eventually her wheelchair pushed by her son, you wouldn't have known she was sick.  It never showed on her face, even on her worst days.  We joked that she made the rest of us look bad!

Dearest Carol, I'm going to miss you.  My life is richer, fuller, and better because of you.  I overcame so much with your advice, help and encouragement.  I'm still overcoming so much because of your wisdom I now carry with me.  I love you dearly, and I miss you, even as I imagine you running, skipping and jumping through heaven, perfectly healed, your legs and body no longer betraying you, the sun (Son) on your face, beauty surrounding you.  

Thank you, Carol,  for you, for being a part of my life, for what you taught me, for the example you were to me,  just for everything.  You were amazing, and I will never forget that.

A Simple Thank You

I learned a lesson today.

And really, I kind of struggled with this post, because part of it made me feel like an arrogant braggart, but here it is.  I think it's important for all of us to hear.

The words "thank you" carry so much weight.  Sometimes we don't realize just how much weight they carry, and contrary to the title here, they aren't always so simple. Sometimes, they make all the difference a person needs to keep on keeping on.

Noah shared something with us last night about a teacher he had over three years ago, how she took the time to work around his sensory issues so he could still complete a required task.  Once I got past the "Why am I just learning about this NOW?!?!?!" point, I realized--this teacher needs to know the difference she made.  Time does not matter, nor does it matter if she remembers Noah, or even remembers what she did.  She needed to be thanked, and she needed this reminder that for this one child, she made a difference.  I received a return email that left me weepy.

Noah woke up the other night when I went to check on him before I went to bed.  He usually sleeps through this ritual of mine, so he was surprised to see me in his room.  The next morning, he was giggling about it, asking why I came in to cover him up.  I explained I do it every night; I deliver his cat, make sure he's covered and snuggled in, and kiss him as I pray over him.  I told him it is something I will do even once he is married with a family of his own and visiting us.  He seemed shocked, then he hugged me and thanked me, telling me he loves me.  Coming from Noah, this was HUGE.  Simply huge.  It made such a difference in my day, and made me feel worthy.  I had to hang on to his hug a little bit longer than usual until my eyes dried.

See, we never know what others are struggling with.  We never know what's happened, what's going on, or what that person is feeling.  Passage of time should not matter, nor should the person's recollection of the event, or lack thereof.  What matters here is that we are grateful.  They still need to hear those two simple words, "Thank you."  And really, when you think about it, both parties benefit from saying and hearing those words.

We all need to hear it, from the bagger in the grocery store, to the CEO of the company you may work for, we all need to know we are making a difference.  Our husbands, our wives, our children, our neighbors, our children's teachers, and yes, even complete strangers.  We all need to that connection to others.

So, today I'm encouraging you--go out, make eye contact, and say, "Thank you, you've made a difference today."  Send that long overdue email, make that overdue phone call, mail that snail mail card.  Be the difference.

"To the world you may be one person, but to one person, you may be the world."

Depression

I realize I talk a lot about my depression in many of my blogs.  I also realize for those who have never experienced it, or were easily helped by meds, counseling, etc, I leave myself open to criticism and judgment.

If you've never experienced depression, imagine a deep, dark hole.  An abyss.  And, there's no way out.  No ladder, no rope, no elevator, stairs, hands reaching down to pull you out.  Imagine the claustrophobia, the anxiety, the fear and utter despair it could cause.  Imagine the body pain and fatigue your suffer from trying to climb out of that hole using only your fingertips.  Imagine all the people ringed around the top of that hole, telling you how easy it is to climb out--if only you wanted to, if only you really tried, if only you would atone for some long forgotten sin for which God is surely punishing you.  They are telling you to just snap out of it, they were sad once and got over it.  They are telling you to just be happy, that life in that hole isn't so bad.  You should just exercise more, get out of bed earlier, go to bed earlier, sleep less, sleep more, eat this, stop eating that, have sex more often, smile more, wear make up and dress better.  Imagine the self doubt that creeps in when you begin to wonder if maybe they're right, maybe it really is that easy, and you're the one who is making it so difficult.  Imagine retreating further into that hole because of their ridicule, their judgement, wondering what is wrong with me, why can't I be more like them?

Imagine the things that are supposed to help you out of that hole, namely, the meds, and all of their own individual problems.  What's an extra 45 pounds from the side effects when you already can't stand how you look, when that contributes to your self esteem issues? The palsy that makes your handwriting illegible isn't so bad!  The increased, draining exhaustion just needs to be ignored!  They come with their own side effects, sometimes adding to the depression, sometimes increasing suicidal thoughts, and other behaviors. Imagine riding the roller coaster of different meds, different combinations, different dosages.  Your doctor claims to know better, telling you to give it another few weeks to work, then cutting out on your already too short appointment before you can say that while he thinks he knows better, you know your body better and it's just not working.  Imagine finding relief in a medication that is $100/more month, your friends and family telling you there is no price on your sanity.... And then you're right back at square one when that medicine also stops working.  Imagine realizing you have the run the gamut of every medication and combination, including anti-psychotics, on the market, only to realize none of them really do the trick.

Now, understand that your imagination has nothing on the reality of it.

I am not just sad.  I am not lazy.  I am not making up illnesses for attention.  This is not simply a "rough patch."  There was not one single event that caused this, that I need to just get over.  And yes, while I do sin, this is not God's punishment for not repenting, or His punishment for anything else, for that matter.  There is no miraculous healing that I am unwilling to accept. I am not weak in my faith because I need to rely on meds; they do not mean I've given up on God. I have not done anything to 'deserve' this.  I do not like being stuck here, I do not get off on wallowing in my own proverbial filth and misery.  Having more material things will not make me happy; neither will moving, getting a job, having another baby, divorcing my family, or any other life altering event.  Finding a hobby, spending more time with others less fortunate than myself, or getting a job will not solve my depression.  In fact, in some cases, it could make things worse.

Depression is a beast.  It is Satan and every other evil thing rolled into one giant ogre.  Depression distorts life, distorts reality.  It does awful things, causes terrible thoughts, and even worse actions.  It can cause emotions, thoughts, feelings, actions, insomnia and other symptoms that make you question your sanity, if the term mental illness hasn't already.  It causes isolation, despair, hostility, paranoia, despondency, and emotional pain so deep it becomes physical.  It causes fear, guilt, self loathing, self doubt and feelings of such inadequacy that you are crippled by it.  I have been suicidal, prescription drug dependent, hospitalized, medicated, angry and rage-filled, despondent and absent from life.  I often ride a roller coaster of emotions, taking my family along for that ride, whether they want to join me or not.  My kids are war-weary, seeking refuge, never knowing what will set me off (truthfully, I don't either, half the time), waiting for the other shoe to drop on a good day. True depression is debilitating, often all-or-nothing.  It does not simply affect me, but all of those I come in contact with.  I cannot simply snap out of it, no matter how much I want to.  There are days that just showering and being able to take care of my family are almost too much, while other days I can fly through a gazillion errands while singlehandedly preparing three meals.  Some days I am too exhausted to smile, other days I know the seemingly simple effort just might have a chance at tricking my brain, i.e., fake it until you make it.

Depression prevents me from accepting compliments, and from believing my husband when he tells me I'm beautiful.  It prevents me from believing God finds me worthy, and causes me to question my faith and beliefs.  After all, the bible tells us to love others as we love ourselves...  Well, what happens when you don't love yourself?

This is part of who I am.  There is a chemical imbalance in my brain that causes this.  That is not an excuse, it is biology.  It becomes an excuse when I choose to do nothing about it, when I choose to use it as a reason to not participate in life, when I choose to wallow in self pity.  I cannot change the fact that I have depression, but I can choose what I do with it, and what I do about it. I did not ask for this, I would not wish this on anyone.  I often pray it will just go away.  I know there are events that can make it worse, so I do my best to either confront them head on and tell myself it will not send me spiraling, or yes, I even avoid them.  I know there are seasons to my depression, and I do what I can to prepare myself for them, knowing the roller coaster is on the downward spin.  It's about making sure I'm healthy enough to take care of my family.  It's about not letting my depression control me and take over my life.

This is acceptance.  I treat my depression and anxiety.  I have found hope, grace and acceptance in the love of my Father, even when I find myself feeling unworthy of it.  I am grateful for a husband who does his best to take it in stride, no matter how nasty I get.  I've learned the difference between what is really happening in life, compared to what my depression does to distort reality, and I've learned how to cope with that.  I've learned to step back and say to myself, "This is my depression talking." Depression has taught me that healing comes in many different forms.  Often, acceptance is the healing many of us seek.  This is, unfortunately, my reality.  I cannot simply wake up one morning and say "I'm going to be happy forever from this point on!"  No.  But what I can do, is strive for somewhat normal--my normal, not your normal.  This is my normal, and in that acceptance, this is my healing.  I can't choose to be eternally happy, but I can choose how I live with my depression.  There are times I have little control over it, but when I do, I need to choose to make it a good day.

Depression has made me brave.  It has given me the power to speak up and say, "Hey!  This is reality for millions of us.  Instead of judging us, help us!"  I've found relief and comfort among friends who have been brave enough to be as transparent and honest as I am.  I am no longer ashamed of depression and anxiety.  I am no longer as afraid of it as I used to be.  I am no longer embarrassed.  Somewhere in this mess, is a reason for it all.

This is me.  This is who I am.