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)

Wow, Your Hands Sure Are Full!

I was shopping last night and saw one of those cutesy signs that read, "If you think my arms are full, you should see my heart!"

Yes, you know my reaction was a snarky combination of eye rolling and finger-down-the-throat gagging.

The sign also got me thinking about something that happened to me, which led to this post.

Last year Shawn was going to be home late and I was in no condition to throw any kind of dinner together, so before we picked Noah up from practice, the littles and I hopped in the car to grab dinner from Chik Fil A.  Now, if you're not familiar with Chik Fil A, there's really no 'grabbing' anything during peak meal times.  The drive thru wraps itself around the town at least once, and if you happen to have the misfortune of pulling into the parking lot on a spirit night as I did that night, it wraps itself around the town for several miles, or you're parking in the next county over and walking.  Rather than try to attempt entertaining two small children in the drive thru, I finally found a parking space and I took the littles in for our carry out order.  The cashier handed multiple bags and a heavy drink carrier--to my already burdened arms, carrying a squirming infant, an umbrella (because yes, it was also raining--oh, the time had just changed, so it was also dark), my purse and my 6 year old's hand.  Between the crowd at the door inside the restaurant, and on my way to my car in the dark, wet parking lot, no fewer than five people commented how full my hands were.  One of them even allowed the door to slam shut in my face, leaving me to open it with my son's head elbow and foot.  Not one of those observant morons humans offered to help me.  I really considered throat punching the next person who made such a ridiculous observation.  When everything but Ezra and Avery's hand finally slipped out of my hands in the middle of the parking lot, I dropped to my knees in tears, dinner all over the parking lot, ruined.  I cried, I yelled and I screamed, if only one person had offered to help.  I didn't even bother cleaning up the mess our dinner had made. Yes, I felt quite like the crazy lady right there in the middle of the parking lot.  We all got back in the car, all of us in tears, picked Noah up (Avery quickly explained to him that "Mommy dropped dinner and screamed at Chik Fil A.") and went home to canned soup for dinner.  

If only one person had offered to help.  You could be the difference between a good day or a bad one for someone.  Wouldn't you want to help a person have a good day?  All it takes is an offer of help.  All that person can do is say no--and hey, you've done your part.

"Could I carry that coffee cup to the register for you?"
"Could I please take your tray to the trash can?  Gosh, I remember when my kids were that age!"
"I would really like to help, it looks like your arms are full, what can I do?"
"Here, please take my arm and we can step down this curb together!"
"Is there something I can reach for you?"

It doesn't take much to be nice, to be thoughtful.  A simple smile, a door held open, a quick pleasantry at the door.  An offer of help.  There are times when it's not so much that a person's arms are full, but the person is caught in public, overwhelmed by life--emotions like grief sneak up and catch us off guard.  Disabilities and pain are another big part of life. So often we lose ourselves in our own little worlds, oblivious to the needs of others, oblivious to others at all.  I beg you--wake up, be aware.

My ending thought--be the light.  Don't be the jerk with the dumb, obvious comment.  Be the nice human with the nice smile and the waiting arms.

To the Adorable Little Girl in Target

I've had a rough time lately.  I haven't felt the Christmas spirit, and I've struggled.  December is usually a tough month for me anyway; I told myself this year would be different--but a few things have happened, and I've allowed them to drag me down.  I haven't dealt with them as well as I thought I would, or had.  It's unfortunate.  I'm tough on myself when this happens, because I have so much to be thankful for.  I live an amazing life, but there's one little glitch in my brain that makes things more difficult sometimes.

This time of year I start thinking about the gifts we can't wrap.  I think about my grown up Christmas list, all the many things other people need, but sadly are unable to provide for themselves or their families.  I think of all the things I want that cannot be put under any tree.  Occasionally I obsess a little (too much) on it.  I get melancholy, or, as Noah puts it, somber.

So, instead of having a home that's warmly decorated, I have a tree that's up and sort of halfway sort of decorated, a yard that's decorated (thanks to Noah), and 8 boxes or decorated scattered around the house that I'm constantly tripping over.

I've done a lot of 'faking it' for Avery's sake, or tried to at least.  Noah can see through it, and Shawn knows the truth.

So, maybe that helps you understand why you, dear child--you have no idea the gift you gave me the other night.  I came across you and your parents at the lights in the Christmas section; I motioned to your mom that I would steer my cart around behind the three of you because the look on your face was priceless as your dad carefully explained all the different kinds of lights to you, I just didn't want to break the spell.  You were in complete awe!!!  You happened to look over at me anyway, a huge, beautiful, happy grin on your face.  Your smile was catching, and I said to you, "There's magic in those lights, isn't there?!"  You nodded, jumping up and down, clapping your little hands and shouting, "YES!  YES!"

Sweet girl, my prayer is this:  That you will continue to share that light in your smile with others.  That the world does not jade you in any way.  I pray your parents continue to foster this awe in you, and continue the patiences they demonstrated, explaining each light to you.  I pray you only ever know love and security.  And I pray that someday, somehow, you know just how exactly how much your smile meant to me, and much it brightened my evening.

My Son is a Student Driver....

.... And You Once Were Also.

I want you to remember that, as you drive down the road, honking maniacally at the teenager driving the speed limit and obeying the traffic laws in front of you.  As you deem yourself 'stuck' behind the slowest driver on the planet, waving your favorite finger and yelling your favorite unchristian words at him.  As you pass him illegally, screaming out your window, cell phone in one hand, coffee in the other, putting everyone on the two lane back road at risk.  Endangering my child's life because your phone call and arriving at your destination before everyone else are more important than his life.

Few things make a mom hit her knees in prayer more than having her child behind the wheel of a car, and let me tell you, I've got bruises on mine.  But knowing my child has already had numerous run-ins with people like this just frightens me all the more.  We're talking wrap-my-kid-in-bubble-wrap level of fear.

Everyone has to learn, and everyone must start somewhere. Noah has a fair level of confidence, and he does very well.  He still stalls at the stop signs every now and then, and, as a smart new driver, he takes the speed cautions on back road curves seriously.  No triple-dog-daring for him, he wants to make it home safely with his dad to his mama and his little brothers (and his mama likes it that way).  Noah is a smart kid.  Shawn started him off in the neighborhood, graduated him the roads around our neighborhood and now they've taken on some of the more challenging back roads, but still no major roads or highways.

I don't want to address road rage as an issue with this blog, even though it is a major problem in our country; I want to address putting a student driver at risk, and remembering that we all were, at one point, student drivers, and the need to be patient with today's student drivers.  We can't possibly know for sure the driver next to us or in front of us is a student driver and not a distracted driver, but let's go back to that word again:  PATIENCE.  We all tend to lose that skill when we get caught up in 70 mph traffic on the 4 lane highway in the middle of rush hour.  But what about the 2 lane back roads, which are supposed to be taken at a safe, leisurely 45 mph speed?  Enjoy the view, relax, and be grateful for the student driver in front of you who just saved you from plowing into that tree on that curve had you been going your usual 70 mph.

To put it another way--do you want to be the reason parents have to bury their child?  Because you were too impatient, because your phone call was more important and you were the distracted driver, because you chose to make dangerous, unsafe and illegal choices?

Please, my children are my life.  I live for them.  I love them more than you could understand.  Please be patient with them, and all the student drivers, on the road.  Be kind.

My son is a student driver, and you once were also.

You've Earned Your Wings

Dearest Mirranda Grace,

I never knew you or your parents, but your death has devastated me.  I've prayed so hard for you, for your recovery, for your miracle, for your complete healing.  I know I'm not the only complete stranger in this position today.  I've prayed for the compassion of the hospital, I've prayed for your family, for your precious parents who have fought so hard for you.  I've fasted, my friends have fasted, my friends have prayed with me, and you've been a prayerful subject in our home.  I've prayed for you at the altar, both by myself and with an intercessor; I've cried out to God. I let loose with wailing sobs last night after my boys went to bed. I couldn't hold it in any longer.  My husband held me for the longest time while I cried about the unfairness of it, while I cried that if God could take your parents' miracle child, could He take ours, and repeatedly asking why He took you?  Eventually I woke up two of our boys, and they came down to comfort me. I just don't understand, precious one, I just don't understand.  Logically, I know your suffering is over--God couldn't stand to see you suffer here on earth anymore.  Your work was finished.  He just couldn't 'fix' you here.  So He took you Home, the only way He could heal you 100%.  You are healed, whole, better, running, laughing playing with other little girls.  But emotionally, in my mama heart--it just doesn't make sense.  I want to curl into a ball--but to honor your memory properly, I care for, and deeply love my own children even more than I already do. I play with them, laugh, joke, hug, kiss, chase them in a game even more.  I will spend each day watching them more carefully, being more grateful for them, and for their good health EVEN MORE.

I wanted so badly to just walk past you and your family in the grocery story one day, and just smile.  I  just wanted to see you bouncing, happy, laughing, healed, whole, not a single sign of the ordeal you'd been through.  I wanted to see your parents swinging you between them, looking down at you, love in their eyes, smiles on their faces, relief in their bodies.

You were their miracle child, your mom and dad's infertility child, the child they tried for for so long, and God finally gifted you to them.  It is difficult for me to understand why God took you from them so soon after granting you to them.

The doctors declared you brain dead.  They wanted to declare you legally dead, but your parents wouldn't have it.  They believed you were still in there, and rightfully so, declaring that God is the only one who has the last word.  They fought so hard against the hospital and the legal system.  They wanted to just take you home and care for you themselves.  What is came down to with the hospital, was the bottom line--you cost them money.  What a sad, unfortunate way to view a child--to view anyone's child.  How callous.  Your parents--what an amazing example to the rest of us.  How beautiful.

I'm not ready to take your name off our prayer wall.  You will remain up there for a while to come. I was never much of a prayer warrior before reading the first article about you, but there was just something--God said that I really needed to pray, and pray fervently, and I did.  My prayer mantra for you was, "Your breath, Your blood"--Jesus' breath, Jesus' blood, just for you, sweet girl.  Jesus breathing for you, his breath in your lungs, his blood rushing through your veins, healing you with each breath and each pump of your heart.  My prayer now will change for your soul, and for your family, for their recovery and healing, especially your dear mum, as this all began on her birthday.  I will also pray for those doctors and lawyers.  It may not be my place, but I personally need something good to come from this, whether I ever know about it or not.  Perhaps your parents' unwavering faith was/is a testimony to someone at the hospital or in the court, or someone else following the news articles about you, someone who needed to be led to, or back to God, someone who needed a reason to believe.

I can't properly explain how much you touched our lives here, or why.  I have a a few theories, but I won't go into those.  With each prayer I prayed every day, every hour, you gave my life more purpose.  I will never forget your amazing blue eyes and that beautiful smile of yours in the photo your parents distributed!! That is the you I choose to hold in my memory, rather than the photo of you in the coma, wires and tubes attaches. Thank you for allowing me the blessing of praying for you.  My tears are not over, but I know they will change over time as God gives me the vision of you playing in Heaven, pain free, and unencumbered by tubes and wires.

You've earned your wings, precious girl.  Fly free. And if you happen to meet a little girl with yellow hair name Grace, please tell her Mommy loves her very much, and some day we'll see each other.