National Spouse Day

Somewhere in social media land today, I saw the hashtag 'national spouse day,' so with Valentine's Day coming up, I wanted to pay homage to my dear husband.

Yesterday on the radio, the DJs were asking for callers to share stories concerning something they'd recently learned about their spouse, girlfriend, or boyfriend.  Thinking about it, Shawn and I have known each other for 23 years, and we've been married for 17 years.  What could I possibly not already know about him?  We don't have any secrets, and often delight in the fact that we do share so many life stories with each other.  We were actually talking about it this morning, how fun it is that we do know so much about each other, and share such a history.

I've watched Shawn raise our boys, turning them into young men of God.  He's a really wonderful dad to them, and we know we're blessed. But I didn't get to watch him raise our daughter; I try not to think about it too much, but I will admit that there are times it's difficult.  It's something we both know we miss out on, but we also do our best to concentrate on the boys we do have.

A few months ago my niece and great niece came to live with us for a little bit--and I got to see how Shawn would've been with Grace.  He fiercely protected those girls, loved on them, and turned into a big pile of pushover mush whenever my great niece wanted something.  He even learned how to make a proper ponytail, and it was declared better than mine.  I watched him circle his protective wagons around 'his' girls, and open his arms wide, welcoming them here as long as they needed.

That week, I fell in love with my husband all over again.

And, I did learn something new about him after all this time--something I felt in my heart already--he would've been an amazing dad to our little girl.  This just made me love him even more.

Happy National Spouse Day, Happy Valentine's Day, Happy Every Day, my love.  Thank you for being who you are, for following God's path, and for loving all of us so fiercely.

The Unborn Child

Disclaimer:  If you don't already know by now, I swing widely to the political right.  If you swing to political left, we are going to have to agree to disagree concerning this post.  That is one of the great things about our country--you are allowed your opinions and thoughts, and I'm allowed mine.  Let's just shake hands and move along.  

Hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of women are marching on Washington D.C. today for women's rights.  Among those rights is the right to end life--what they call reproductive rights.  These women are also claiming to represent all women, and the rights of all women.

Dear women, please know: You do not represent me, my rights, values, beliefs, ethics and thoughts, nor my family.  Only my God and His words properly represent all of these, especially when it comes to the sanctity of life.

Our family believes that life begins at conception.  Simply put, that baby is a human life, a beautiful, amazing, miraculous life, not a clump a cells, not a choice, or an 'it.'  Two scriptures define life in the womb as just that, life: Psalm 139: 13 ("For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb...") and Jeremiah 1:5 ("Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart..."). The only two choices to consider are the one made at the beginning in the bedroom, or during the pregnancy that results in adoption.  Abortion--murder--is not one of those choices.  No one has the right to end that precious life, for any reason.  God is the only one to ever make the end of life decision. That priceless unborn child is precious to us, to be treated only with care, love and the utmost respect.  It physically pains me to think of a human life being reduced to a choice, to have never been given a chance, to be in pain in the womb, and discarded without so much care, without ever knowing gentle love.  While these women are marching for their reproductive rights, who will fight for the rights of the unborn children?

You already know our testimony about child loss through miscarriage, and our journey through infertility. I've rejoiced with friends and strangers alike who finally have their miracle children.   I've prayed with, and for precious friends as they've journeyed through the same mess, and did not have the same outcome as our family.  I've shed countless tears for them, and with them.

Yes, our testimony impacts our beliefs somewhat--but our beliefs impact our testimony even more.  Our beliefs impact(ed) our prayer, our faith, and our never-ending knowledge that God's ways are the best ways, even when they aren't our ways.  Without our beliefs, we are nothing.

We have our children, as do so many families, because of God.  Many families have their children because other women chose to not exercise their right to 'choice,' instead giving life, and knitting adoptive families together.  And these dear women marching today have life because their own mothers gave life to them.

I have prayed for changed hearts today.  I have prayed for souls today.  I have prayed for our country today.  But most of all, I have prayed for the unborn children.

I Am Free

"Buckling under the weight of my own life is what helped me fall into the arms of God."

Lisa Harper

For most of my adulthood, I've looked for the next thing to fix me.  The next medication, the next doctor or specialist, the next mentor, counselor, therapist, the next book, the next talisman.  The next church, bible study, women's group, support group, moms' group, prayer group.  My cry was FIX ME. Fix my body, fix my bitterness and anger, my mind, fix my past.  Give me health, give me forgiveness, give me peace.  But I was looking in all the wrong places, and to all the wrong people.

For some of this, I was saved.  But I was still looking to the wrong places (place), and the wrong people (person).  I was still just so ridiculously human, that I looked to other humans to fix me.  I did not pray for myself, I did not go to the cross on my own.  I did nothing to help myself.  I wanted other people to do it for me. I wanted someone to teach me how to do it, I wanted a book to spell it out for me (always reading the wrong book...)--I just wanted it done, and POOF, I would be all better.

I stopped searching.  I don't remember it happening.  I stopped looking for people and places and things to fix me. We were going to a new church, and I do remember resolving that I wasn't going to allow myself to be anyone's project.  I wasn't going to open up about myself, attend groups, rely on anyone, make eye contact.  No sirree.  Of course, God had other plans, but that is another post, or has been at some point.  But I don't remember when I felt fixed.  It just kind of happened.

I am free now.  I have freedom in Jesus. I am released of all the things I struggled with.  My health has not been healed by human standards, but Jesus has released me from me it by teaching me how to deal with it.  Jesus released me from my bitterness and anger by teaching me forgiveness, both for myself, and for those on the other end of the relationships.  Jesus has released me by giving me peace.  Jesus released me, most of all, by giving me his own forgiveness, grace and mercy.  He has wrapped me in his eternal, unconditional love.

I've learned that even though I have health problems and depression and a bad day here and there, I still have an amazing life.  The two don't cancel each other out.  I am blessed beyond measure; all of my needs are met, and most of my wants are as well.  But most importantly, when I count my biggest blessing, I count my freedom.

I.  AM.  FREE.

Stay At Home Mom Problems

Adult conversation can be hard to come by some days.  Friends are busy, playdates aren't always easy to organize (and just try getting a word in edgewise around children who have just discovered they have the ability to form real words), and Shawn doesn't necessarily appreciate 50 phone calls a day.

There are the days you (okay, okay, it's me...) make a trip to Walmart or the grocery store for something you really don't need, just so you (I) can chat up the cashier (Ezra and I have even made a friend at our grocery store now, so we only go on her days--it's good stuff!).  You--I--find myself talking to complete strangers at Chik-Fil-A (thank goodness Poppa J is always willing to sit down for a spell during the lunch shift!), talking to other moms at the park, and even starting conversations with people while I'm pumping gas.  Heyyyyy.... I wonder if that hitchhiker is a good conversationalist... Hmmm, probably not.  And now, I'm finding myself possibly harassing people on the other end of the phone.

Yep, I'm that cheerful, talkative person the appointment confirmation specialist can't get off the phone.  And sometimes, they take pity on me.

When I called our insurance company to confirm a few details the other day, the young woman on the other end profusely apologized that the phone call was taking so long.  I told her it was just fine (first, take all the time necessary to make sure everything is correct), then (only sort of) joked that she was the only adult I would get to talk to until about 8 that night.

There was a pause, then, "So, um, do you like, wanna talk about the weather, or like, tell me about your kids, or talk about something else when we're finished with business then?"

What a dear, sweet, kind soul!  Not only did she make me laugh, but her gesture also really touched my heart. I took pity on her and did not take her up on her thoughtful offer, but it was just nice to know there are still people out there willing to take the time for other people.  I did thank her, and I did tell her how much her gesture meant to me, and she got a very nice review from me as well.

Moral of the Story:  Take time for your fellow human beings, and be genuine.

Let's Give Them Something to Talk About

The #StayAliveChallenge is making its way around the internet right now.  I'm not sure how I feel about suicide prevention being a challenge, but I see the thought behind it, and I will applaud whatever it takes to keep people agreeing to live one more day.

I've battled depression the better part of two and a half decades, and yes, for much of that I've dealt with suicidal ideations and self harm.  I was even hospitalized in college.  I still do battle depression, but rather than consider myself a victim of it, I see myself more as a warrior now, a survivor.  I treat it daily with medication and prayer, and know the signs of it beginning to overtake my thoughts and life.  I know the signs of the enemy beginning to try to push his way in, but I know how to push back, harder.  Please do not misunderstand; everything is not all unicorns and rainbows.  I still struggle.  There are still dark days, days I feel I merely exist, and days that just getting out of bed exhausts the heck out of me.  But I know what to call it now.  

I am open about my battles with depression, particularly postpartum depression and self harm.  I know what it feels like to be utterly crushed under the weight of depression, to drown in the pit of it.  We need to put names to it, call it what it is, and make it okay to talk about--yes, talk about it, even in polite circles.  It is important to me that others know their value and importance in this world; only you can be you, and only you can fulfill the roles needed by you in this world!  You are so needed, despite what depression might tell you.

My children are at high risk for depression and other mental illnesses, having been dealt a genetic soup from both sides of our families.  I watch them like a hawk, careful with words, and asking about their thoughts about themselves. I pray over them constantly, as well as the children of friends who have been diagnosed.  Childhood and the teen years are difficult enough without depression.

We have actors like Jared Padelecki and Carrie Fisher, and groups such as TWLOHA to thank for helping break the stigma attached to mental illness.  They've started conversations, and are making strides to make it more acceptable to talk about mental illness and seek help.

Still, much of the stigma remains. Having a mental illness does not automatically make a person 'crazy,' it only means our brains are wired differently.  We have 'challenges' such as this #StayAliveChallenge that make their ways around the internet, and yes, while they bring attention to mental illness and suicide, I do have mixed feelings about them.  What people need is real help, not a photo challenge, or a Twitter feed. It needs to be a daily conversation of understanding and acceptance, not judgment and whispering. A person can have a mental illness and not be able to help it, not be to blame, the same way a person can have cancer and not be to blame.

My reason to live is my family.  My four reasons: Shawn, Noah, Avery and Ezra.  I need them more than they could ever need me.  Please, find your reason.  Call one of these numbers below, then call a loved one.  You are not alone.  Do not be afraid to ask for help.  I'm okay now, and you know what?  You will be okay too.  I know--I KNOW--it doesn't seem like it now, but you will be okay.  You will get through this.  Just hold on.


National Suicide Prevention Lifeline  1-800-273-8255

Crisis Text Line TEXT "TWLOHA" TO 741-741

Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network (RAINN) 1-800-656-HOPE (656-4673)

Veterans Crisis Line  1-800-273-TALK (273-8255) PRESS 1

National Child Abuse Hotline  1-800-4-A-CHILD (422-4453)

The Trevor Project 1-866-4-U-TREVOR (488-7386)