Outside Looking In

I love to people watch.  When I'm at the park, the pool, the grocery store, a restaurant--there is always someone, or a group of someones, worth watching.  There are different reasons a particular person or group of people might attract my attention.  Sometimes I wonder what that person's story is, other times I make one up.  I watch behavior, words, clothing, make up, body language, social interaction.  I'm not a very social person myself, so I suppose maybe this is my way of interacting.

Sometimes the person I'm watching is a child. Sometimes that child is interacting with other children, with a parent, or just by him/herself.  I think, as mothers with our own experiences, we are quick to watch the interactions of other parents and children, deciding what we might do differently, recognizing good, hard work as it is, and sometimes--recognizing when something might be a little different.  Something we can identify with, but the parent and child are yet unaware of themselves.

This happened in the park the other day.  It broke my heart to watch a child who, to me, seemed to be quite obviously on the spectrum, and the parent, who was quite oblivious and impatient with it.  Of course, it is also possible she was not so oblivious, and is just impatient. When her child went off by himself, engaged in stimming behaviors, and some other behavior that displeased her, she screamed at him to go play with his friends, begged him to stop, and asked him what is wrong with him.  She was exasperated, impatient and generally annoyed.

It was hard to watch, but truly, I've been there.  I think that was what made it hardest, in all honesty.  I know where she is, or at least, where she might be.  She's trying to figure out what is wrong with her as a mom, what she isn't getting right, and what is wrong with her child.  She may be starting to realize it's not necessarily her parenting skills, and it's not necessarily his listening skills.  She's starting to recognize the differences between her child and other children his age, but she doesn't know what to do with it.  She doesn't have anyone to speak life to her, to guide her, but even if she did, she is not ready to listen.  As I watched her, I could not judge her.  I could empathize, and sympathize, but I could not judge.

I sat on my bench watching Avery--my 'normal' kid--playing, jumping, swinging, yelling, laughing, giggling, while I mulled all of this over.  I know the struggle with Noah was real, and I know my denial hurt us both.  I wondered how many people watched us with the same anguish I was watching this mom with, and I know I would not have listened if someone had spoken to me.  I was not ready to listen, and until I was, I would only turn away from those who tried.  

Hindsight is always 20/20.  And looking in from the outside is always easier than looking in from within.  We all have something we have, or currently struggle with.  Be patient, be kind, be a friend.

My Prayer

I've spent the past week raging against life.  At the most recent doctor's appointment, we discovered part of the root of many of my health issues--or at least, more of the root.  The latest labwork shows I'm in early menopause--not premenopause, but actual, real menopause.  At 37 years old.  Yep.  This is due, in part, because my adrenal glands have quit working.  When that happens, your body starts stealing from other hormones in order to stay upright and keep functioning.

On my way home, I had to pull into a parking lot up the street before I could face my family.  I needed time to scream, yell, cry like a crazy person, and rage on.  I sat in the parking lot with Casting Crowns blasting on the stereo, pounding the steering wheel and screaming at the unfairness of my reality.

I feel screwed over.  That's all the honesty I have to give you.  No wisdom, just honesty.  My sister had child #5 at age 40, but here I am, at 37, realizing just how incredibly miraculous the two boys I do have really are.  Again, it strikes home--no more babies.  It's like a hammer slamming down.  Reality.  Have I mentioned I'm only 37?

My body has been through hell, is still going through hell, and has yet to come back. My body is worn out, my immune system is suppressed, and nothing works the way it should.  Every system in my body has gone in its own haywire direction.  Recovery from this, IF I can do everything the way I'm 'supposed' to, could take up to two years, and that's if my body is in shape enough to have it all reversed.  That's a whole lotta ifs.  I'm angry,  I'm frustrated, I'm upset, I'm just really pissed off.  I cry at the drop of a hat, and I just want to hide.  I feel gipped.  Most days, I don't have the energy to put up a good fight.  In a life in which your own body continually works against you, it's hard to have hope.  I want to feel bitter, I want to be bitter.  I don't want to have to play nice, be nice and move on.

This wasn't my plan.  My plan was for a house full of kids.

I know there is a part of me that continues to hope if I repeat "Having another baby is impossible" enough times, God will rear up and shout "NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME, CHILD!"  He did that with Avery, and I just, even if I'm lying to myself, need to believe, at least for now, that it can happen again.

This wasn't my plan.  I can't tell you how many times I've said this in the past fourteen years.

Funny how that happens.  This--NONE of this--wasn't my plan, but it obviously is part of His plan.  I'm having one of those "Could you maybe just clue me in a bit, here" weeks.  Is it possible for Him to let me in on His plan?  Even just a hint?

Yesterday I stood in church during praise and worship with tears streaming down my face.  I couldn't stop them. This has become my norm, and I know there is still more to come.  I prayed, "Lord, please let this mess be for Your good."  Please, let something good come out of this.  Not because I'm ready to martyr myself, not because I want to look, act like, be a martyr, but because I need something positive to come out of the negative.

With Avery, God gave me a tremendous testimony.  With the recovery and remission that came with his pregnancy and birth, I found an incredible story to share with others.  I am called to share it with others, to give hope, to share faith and God's promise--THIS, this is what our God can do.

I don't know what this chapter of my journey holds for me as an individual, or us as a family, but I do have to believe it won't be for naught.  I need to believe we will look back on it and think, "Ohhh, I see it now."  I need to continue to believe in the good, and have faith even when I don't like what's happening.

Even in the storm, praise Him.

Depression and Honesty

It's no secret I really struggled through the winter.  Depression and anxiety reared their ugly heads every chance I gave them, and then some.  I know that, for the most part, it's par for the course for me.  It starts settling in around the end of September, and I finally start seeing daylight again by March.  It's a pattern, and I know it's going to happen.

This year, as I looked forward to March, looked forward to coming out of my self imposed hibernation, we were slammed with the infertility news.  I still can't say that without breaking down.  It's been hard for me.  I have isolated myself, closed myself off emotionally, and hidden.  I have kept conversations at a surface level, and stopped the tears each time.  I'm afraid if I open the dam, it will break.

The thing is, when I suffer, so does my family.  And that's not fair to them.

The other thing is, I have really great friends who have also fought this battle, and they aren't afraid to call me on it.

After three little mini-breakdowns (that have become the norm) while I was driving with Avery in the car today, I admitted to a friend (in a text, of course, because saying it out loud is too much)--it might be time to go back on meds.  I hate them, but I know I need them.  My dear friend agreed, saying she has been waiting for an opportune time to talk to me about it, after watching me since this winter.

This is not a weakness.  It is an illness, and not one that I can necessarily help.  It's not something I like, something I asked for, or something I encourage in myself.  It simply is.  There is no sin I have not repented for, this is not a punishment (even when it feels like it), and I have not done anything wrong to deserve this.  I simply need a little extra help, a boost to get back on my feet.

Motherhood as a Ministry

I did not enter into motherhood with grace and ease.  Rather, I entered into it kicking and screaming, completely questioning God's chosen path for me.  Surely He'd made a mistake!  At the time, I knew I was doing it all wrong, but as I watched other mothers of  children Noah's age, I couldn't quite put my finger on what they were doing all right.

I have since eased up on myself.  There are times I still question God's judgement here, but I know now that motherhood was always my path.  I still struggle with it (who doesn't), but I know this is where I'm meant to be at this moment in time.  Motherhood is hard, but I've learned it is not because of what I'm doing wrong, it is simply the nature of the beast. I have learned a multitude of lessons in the past almost 14 years, after all, motherhood is on-the-job-training!

At this point in my parenting life, the benefits are constantly outweighing anything else.  I have learned to relax, I have learned to let go of my quest for perfectionism (okay, so I'm still working on that one), I have learned to correct mistakes and apologize for those mistakes, and, perhaps most importantly, I have learned I am not alone in this.  There are plenty of other moms going through exactly what I am, including the days I don't roll out of bed immediately prepared to 'mom.'  I have built a network of support, and if I am alone, it is because of my own hand.

One other thing I'm learning is that I really do have great kids.  It's humorous to me when people apologize upon finding out I have a teenager--but really, he's a great kid!  Having great kids certainly makes things easier too!

Occasionally I go through a "I haven't done anything with my life" phase, and I think--I should have a  job!  I should go back to school!  I should have a career!  I'm missing out!  l should have a passion!  I should have a purpose!  When will it be MY time, MY turn???

And I realize...  Motherhood isn't about me.  It's about them, my children.  This is their time, their turn--and I need to be home for them.  They need me, and I need them.  I need to know I'm doing everything I can to raise them up, to encourage them, to cheer them on, to teach them to fail, so I can then teach them how to come back from failure.  This IS my career. They ARE my purpose. And I have done a lot with my life--I am raising up to God-praising gentlemen who know they come first in my life, and will know how to do the same for their children.

It is incredible to me how many don't see motherhood as a calling, or a career, or as anything more than herding cats.  With Avery entering kindergarten in the fall, I've already been asked many times if I will get a job.  I reply, "I already have one."  So they ask, "No, a real job." And I reply, "I.  ALREADY.  HAVE.  ONE."  Seriously, Avery entering school does not mean my children will need me any less.  In fact, with Noah entering in the life of teenage-dom, I think he will need me even more!  I need to be available to my kids, and they need to know I'm available to them.

Recently, I was truly convicted in this new mindset of motherhood as a ministry, rather than a battlefield or inconvenience or hassle.  Last fall I resigned from my position where I was volunteering--the only thing at the time that identified me as something other than a mom and a wife--because I realized even that short time I spent in preparation for it each week was taking away from my kids.  I couldn't do both well, I couldn't give time to both my home life and my volunteer job as they deserved.  This week, a dear friend did the same, resigning from a job she loved and was great at; she said to me, "Amy, I have a child starting high school in the fall and life is just too short."  It's true.  Life is just too short to not stop and be the mom my boys need and deserve.  I have only--ONLY--five more years with Noah before he leaves for college!  Avery is two weeks shy of five and I have no idea how or when that happened!

So, here it is--motherhood is my ministry.  And there is nothing easy about being in ministry--but I will tell you this, it's always, ALWAYS, worth it.  When you put your heart and soul into something and see the results--the struggle, and the growth, are worth it.

Now, who's going to remind me of all of this two weeks into summer break when I'm pulling my hair out?!?!?!

Gratitude and Grace

Yesterday was Mother's Day.  That holiday has the potential to be an emotional firestorm for many people for many reasons.  For some of my friends, it was a difficult day because their moms are no longer with us.  For other women, it's hard because they want to be moms but aren't.  Some moms have lost their children, and that makes Mother's Day difficult.  Then there are some who still have mothers, but it really isn't the "honor thy mother" kind of relationship.

That is the thing about Mother's Day for me--there is very little honor between me and my mother. It is not a day we celebrate together, or even acknowledge for each other.  However, I've decided that giving her that kind of power over my day is not hers to have.  This day is not about her shortcomings, or really, even my own.  Instead, this day is for me to celebrate my children, my joy, my love, and my relationship with my children.  This day is not about the kind of mother and grandmother she has chosen not to be, but about the kind of mom I choose to be.

I did a lot of reflecting yesterday.  It is because of the kind of mother mine is that I am the kind of mom I am.  I could not choose how I was raised, but I can choose how my own children are raised.  My own children can be--are--raised with the kind of love, understanding, acceptance, and encouragement I still don't receive.  They are not raised with ridicule, selfishness, condemnation and conditional 'love.'  It is because of how I was raised that I am raising my own children the way I am.  In a way, I do have my mother to thank for that.  I am the mom I am because of the mother she was, in spite of the mother she is.

That brings me to gratitude.  Such a word!  Being thankful, living a life of praise, just living gratefully.  I don't always nail this one.  But, this is how I want to raise my children, with them knowing I am grateful for them, that I am grateful for the chance to raise them and call them my own.  I have been granted such a gift, and I don't want to take them for granted.  In the same way, I do need to be grateful to my mother--for teaching me the wrong ways and right ways to raise my boys, for giving me life, and she did provide me with physical necessities.  Again, I am who I am because of how I was raised.  I am one of those who has turned out in spite of my parents, not necessarily because of my parents.

And, there's grace.  That kind of forgiveness we can't earn, or even deserve, that forgiveness we don't ask for, that gift we are given from our Father.  Even when we don't deserve it, even when we can't admit our wrongs, our faults, our misbehaviors--He still grants us grace.  This is what I need to do for my mother.  I don't believe she will ever see the error of her ways, and I don't believe she will change.  She is the one who has always railed that she "did the best she could with what she had"--and she wasn't talking about her parenting skills, she was talking about me and my sister.  Her behaviors continue, and she continues to be unhealthy for my children, and myself.  As this continues, she will continue to not be allowed to be a part of our lives.  However, I need to grant her that same grace God has given me.  She hasn't earned it, she doesn't necessarily deserve it, and she won't ask for it because she doesn't think she needs it, but I have to give it to her.  A gift.

It's quite possible I am making this sound so much easier for me than it is.  Believe me when I say, it's not easy.  This is the last thing I want to do.  Sounds petty, but it's true.  Our pastor's wife has been reminding us that "love covers a multitude of sins"--whether it is the parent's love for the child who sinned, or the child's love for the sinning parent, love covers it.  I don't believe I'm quite there.  It has been a while since I have felt 'love' for either of my parents.  I do have a ways to go, especially before I can verbally tell either of my parents that I forgive them (I can just see how that would go over....); in my head is much easier, not so easy in my heart, nearly impossible face to face.

I know too though, this is where raising my own children comes in--I have to be the example to them. They are watching me.  I must give my mother that gratitude and grace, if not for us, then for them.

I Don't Feel "Cat Safe"

When we knew Gretta was coming to the end of her life, I started researching other dog breeds, various rescues, and adoption agencies.  One of the things we learned while researching Greyhound rescue was how they determine if the former racing dogs are "cat safe."  A cat is placed inside a carrier in the same room at the dog, and it goes from there, introducing the cat to the dog in stages.

This is how I feel right now.  I feel like a Greyhound in the middle of a room full of cats, i.e., pregnant women.  Suddenly they're everywhere.  Completely unavoidable.  Standing in an elevator surrounded by several women on their way to their OB appointments last week, I started to sweat and shake.  I couldn't look at them, I couldn't look up from the floor.  On the way back down, I caught myself actually trying to close the elevator before another mom-to-be could catch it.  What is wrong with me?  Noah picked up on something in my reaction, and grabbed my hand, leaning into me the way he does when he needs reassurance.  I pulled Avery closer, still not able to look at the other woman, unable to look up from the floor, wanting to just dissolve into a puddle and cry.

Let me be clear, I am not in danger of hurting anyone.  That is not the point I'm trying to make here.  My rage and anger are not directed at the ones who will be good parents--I will admit to some jealousy, because otherwise I would be lying.  My point is that I just don't know how to act.  I know I need to be happy for them, I need to be joyful.  What I really want to say when I congratulate them is, "If I ever find out you've hurt that child, taken him/her for granted, or mistreated that child in any way, shape or form--I'll rip your uterus out and feed it to you."

Seriously.  I'm angry.  I need to stop reading the news.  I'm frustrated that these people who kill their children, exploit them, mistreat them--these people who make the news for their crimes--I'm angry that we were able to have children in the first place.  And what angers me even more in my situation is that they will eventually get out of prison (if they even make it there in the first place), or the psychiatric hospital,  or wherever, and they will go on to have more children. And they will hurt those children too.  People are getting away with too much, and they don't deserve these children to begin with.  Why does this happen?  I'm angry with them, and I'm angry with my body.  I'm angry with the women who take their fertility for granted, and the ones who waste the gifts they are given.

My kids are my center.  I love them.  No, I'm not perfect, and yes, I have things I will have to answer for, but overall, I feel like I've lived my life doing everything the "right" way.  I just want to know--WHY?  When I posed this question to my friend, along with admitting she doesn't know (not that I expect her to, I just need someone to hear me, and she does), she said, "Amy, because you're strong.  He knows you can handle this."  Well, I'm tired of being the strong one. I'm tired of having to handle 'it.'  I really am.  And what does that say about the people who mistreat their children--yes, they aren't strong, it's why they abuse their children in the first place--but why isn't more expected of them?  If this is strong, I don't want any part of it anymore.  On the other hand, I don't want to be the weakling who abuses her children and takes them for granted.  I just want to be the nesting, happy expectant mother.

And I know... God does not work that way.  Chances are good I won't get an answer, at least not in this life.  God does not work by lives lived well and good deeds.  Rewards don't happen the way we want them to, or the way we tend to think of them.  I can scream and cry "IT'S NOT FAIR" until I'm blue in the face, and while I'm right, there's nothing about life that starts out as fair.  Life isn't meant to be fair.

I will never understand why some people are allowed to have children, only to bring harm to them, while others who would make outstanding parents are never able to live that dream to fruition.  I do know that I have two things I can do with this anger--deal with it before it eats me alive and ruins the good in my life, or allow it to do just that.  I do know that I am blessed to have the two children I do have.  That's more than some can even hope for.

Bible Study Drop Out

Seriously, did you hear "beauty school drop ooouttt" a la Grease when you read that, the way I heard it when I typed it???

Anyway.

I keep trying to write a post about the new church we've been attending, and everything that has gone into our move there, but it just doesn't feel right still.  Someday, it will come.  Right now, I still can't get the words right, or the feelings right.  There's just too much in my head to sort through and make sense of still.

Anyway.

When we first started attending this new church, Shawn and I swore off joining anything.  We are not joiners to begin with, we are more like the social recluses who cling to the wall in the hopes we won't be noticed, but we've found with past churches that joining leads to even more insecurities than we are prepared to deal with.  I am not one for cliques, and sadly, I've found many churches to have cliques worse than high school.  I am not into competition--you either like me or you don't--and I am not someone's project.  Besides all of that, I prefer people at an arm's length.  I have a few close friends who know me inside and out, but beyond that, I am just not into all that sharing and girlhood closeness.  I have tried, in the past, to be part of that, but have only been met with disappointment when I did not measure up to what 'they' wanted.  Maybe it's all perception, but it's my perception, and this is my blog, so there's that.  I don't like bible studies, or anything that gets a bunch of women (or people in general) together for what has the potential to be intimate discussion.  It becomes more and more difficult to keep that arm's length distance.  People want to know about you, your life, your feelings.  It starts to get personal.  Then they want you to join other things, and when you don't, things get weird.  They don't like you as much, and that so-called unconditional acceptance you are supposed to be able to find in church begins to wear off.  You start finding out just how fake some people are beneath their surface Christianity.  Oh--and there's that whole working-through-your-issues thing, too, depending on the study.  Yes, there's that.

So, Shawn and I swore off joining.  We just want to go, attend on Sunday, do our family stuff with the kids throughout the week, and have that be it.  We've been attending since September, and things have worked just fine for us this way.

Then Noah joined the audio/tech group.  All on his own.

Then God moved us from the back row (gasp), our comfort zone, to the way-too-close-to-the-front rows in the middle of the church.

And our pastor has this point he makes every week:  "No one is worth going to hell over," meaning, if past hurts are keeping you from moving forward... Move on.

God is moving within our family, and if we don't hang on, He's going to drag us one way or another (which for us tends to involve kicking and screaming).

Soooo.  Our church recently began their spring connections groups drive.  I flipped through the book.  A few looked interesting.  Sure, I'd like to do them.  BUT, I'd have to JOIN.  People will know my name and want to have conversations on Sunday morning.  There wouldn't be anymore closing myself off in my protective little bubble. There's that word again. JOIN. Ugh.  Sigh.  NO.  Just NO.

However, after the service, I found myself in the lobby, pen in hand, signing up not just for one, but TWO studies.  Wow, talk about hiking up the big girl panties!  I've told myself, as I have before, I will stick these out.  Both are focused on becoming a better mom, and I owe this to my children.   You know who else I owe this to?  God.  He craves a deeper, more meaningful relationship with me, and He wants me to have a better, deeper relationship with my children.  He did not die on the cross so I could sit around and whine about not wanting to join.  So, I am praying, and working on changing my mindset.  This is not about the collective them, or my perceptions, it's about becoming a better follower of Christ, a better mom and wife, and just a better me overall.  I have no excuses this time: childcare is provided (Avery will benefit from playing with other children), they are morning classes (nighttime driving and exhaustion have always been a major excuse for evening classes), and really, I just need this.  I deserve to do this for myself.  I will give this church, these groups, an unprejudiced chance, and will not judge based on past experiences. I know I will be guarded, I feel that's just who I am, but I will go into this with open eyes, and an open heart.