Fighting For...

The other day I was shopping for the perfect gift for this amazing girl I know that is headed off to college. She is moving into her dorm tomorrow, and this is the culmination of almost two years of her fighting for something different than she grew up in. Yearning for something more. Except she, unlike many people, had the courage to turn that yearning into action. She took all of the difficult steps to shed the dysfunction, the dead, the poison, and to seek and to search after life, love and for what she knew had to exist outside of the life she had known. I met this girl when she was 17. It happened to be at the darkest time of her life. I helped her start the ball rolling, walked with her through the darkness. At the same time, someone else also came into my life. Someone else who was hurting and alone. Someone I felt God had called me to show grace to...tangibly. So for a time, I did life with these young women.

So back to yesterday... I was in search of that perfect gift. And I found it. But in the process...I also stumbled upon this sign. And like most people who come to my town (tourists), I pulled my camera out and snapped a picture. Not because I am a tourist, but because these words are the fabric of who God made me to be. They are the motto by which I chose to live, for as far back as I can remember. These words are what drove me to get involved with these women in the first place. To take chances. To show grace. To offer hope. The one...has had her entire life change before her very eyes. It has been a grueling and difficult process...not easy by any means. But she starts her sophomore year of college at Calvin tomorrow and I could not be more proud of her. If you knew what this girl has overcome, you would feel the same. She made so many difficult decisions, overcame so many obstacles, and has come SO far. The story of redemption is just beginning, but her story is to the point that you can't wait to turn the next page to see what happens.
The other story did not end that way. It did not end well. At all. In fact, (using the words of the sign I saw yesterday), my risks were not "safe", and the care I offered hurt me a thousand times more than any help it gave her, and the dreams were not real, and my expectations for this girl which everyone told me were crazy...really were. What I thought I saw and hoped and offered came back to bite me full circle. Now when I read the words of that sign, all sorts of memories come crashing back like angry waves in a hurricane until I am knocked flat and the last thing I ever want to do, is live those words.
Since then, I have so often wondered what we ARE called to. I have believed my entire life that we are called to love tangibly, to give grace freely, to get our hands dirty, to give more than we think we have. But in small ways over the past two years, and then in a huge way a year ago, this belief became my demise. I am a therapist. I preach boundaries. And I have them. But with these people I literally felt God calling me to go further. To love radically. To get my hands dirty. And I did. And I risked a lot. One story is beautiful. The other a mess. And the mess was so damaging to my heart that it has largely caused me to back pedal away from the beautiful. For fear. That binding awful fear. So many times I have fallen prey to the idea that if we do what is right...what we are called to do...that everything will work out and the story will end beautifully. And when it doesn't, then what? The few people I was able to let in on the details had a miriad of responses. Most were the threads that wove together to help catch me as I fell. But a few said things I had heard other times in my life that are very damaging. Things like, "Well its such a mess, you must have heard wrong or you must have rushed ahead and done your own thing...this can't be God." These messages threw me back to my core beliefs on God. And you know what I found? I found that most often in the Bible, when God asked something of someone, it did NOT end well. In fact, many times the person ended up dead, or suffering in some way. Which in an earthly sense, we look upon and ask what kind of God rewards His people like that? But we fail to see beyond this life. We don't realize that the greatest grace ever extended to us...is heaven. So what we view as so awful (death), is in fact the very entrance gate we must walk through to get to the greatest victory.
But here is the thing. I still feel stupid. And weak. And vulnerable. And while I want to be true to the person God made me to be, I am so much thicker skinned. So much more cynical and jaded. So much less trusting. So much. And terrified of getting involved or getting my hands dirty with anyone else's life. I know the right response to all of this is to go forward, smarter. To be who God created me to be, but with better boundaries and more wisdom. But I haven't yet found the practical landing spot for that. I am at war within myself. I gave so much, and it could have cost me everything. In fact, my last time speaking to this person, I told her that I wished she "had stolen every dime in my bank account, because what she had taken from me was far, far more valuable." I knew that then...even in those early days.
A few months later I was pregnant. And lots happened the months before that, and even more the months after that. And I spent the last year feeling weak and vulnerable and insecure and depressed and utterly alone. And sick, both physically and at heart. At one point I remember laying alone in my room and feeling lost on so many levels. This was a year of deep loss....friendships, relationships, ideals, faith, and lots more that I can't share. And as labor neared, I viewed it as an opportunity to start something new. That if I could just have my physical health, perhaps the rest would start to fall into place. And here is where the natural labor thing fell. I know for many women it makes NO sense. Why would I ever put myself in a position to feel such pain when I could dull it? Why dip my toes into more hell, when I could avoid it? But I FOUGHT this entire pregnancy. I fought on so many levels. And I felt so weak by the end. For so long I had let people make me feel weak and I desperately needed to feel strong again. I wanted to FEEL and to fight back. So many people dull their emotions...its the American way...easy and fast fixes. I don't want to dull.To grow, we must feel. I don't want a bandaid. I want to heal. I am fine with the scars left behind, but I want new flesh to grow. I want something new.
And that something new started August 3, when I labored to bring my youngest son into this world. The labor was a picture to me of how I had been fighting for a long time. A couple of weeks ago, my sister stayed up ridiculously late one night to finish this amazing slide show (link to follow at bottom of post). She sent it to me and I loved every.single.second of it. I cried as I relived it all. But no one really knows all I was fighting for the past ten months, or those three hours in that hospital room. But I see it in these pictures. And it reminds me to keep fighting. I hesitated to share this with the world because it felt too personal. There is nothing inappropriate in the pictures...but the emotions captured are raw. However, it tells a beautiful story. Child birth...new life...is a redemptive story.  We go through the worst pain to gain the best gift. And its so easy to get lost in the pain. While my redemptive story is still being written...my hope is that by sharing this slide show, you will see your own redemption story. The things you have fought so hard to let go of. The things you  have fought so hard to keep. The memories that haunt you that you fight so hard against. The lost dreams, relationships, failures, and hurts that you fight against every day in the hopes that one day it will make some measure of sense. I hope you see that story. Your story...and that you find hope in the midst of it to lead you out of the darkness and into the Light.

Labor...a Redemptive Story
Courtesy of Brennigan Gilson-Burnett of BgPhotography
http://bgphotographystudios.com/

A Birth Story

Women in my circles love a good birth story. I think we all live vicariously through each other, remembering the times that we first met eyes with our own precious children. So I promised to write it out, and here it is. If your a guy, or aren't interested in this sort of thing, I encourage you to close this link right now and go play Words with Friends or something much less emotional and personal then the words I am about to put to paper (or screen) ;-)

My entire pregnancy was an exercise in releasing control. It always is to a great degree, as I am never weaker than when I am pregnant. And I hate to be weak. I hate to need, to have to ask, to not be able to keep up, but apparently God knows that because He has allowed me to learn the hard way four times now, that in our weakness we can be made strong. But this pregnancy was different. The ten months I carried this baby were different. Person after person, thing after thing, circumstance after circumstance was a continuos releasing. By the time the baby was full term I was holding very loosely to this final birth experience being what I wanted it to be. I wanted to do it naturally again. Not for any truly great, selfless reason other than I wanted to be in control. I felt so out of control of so many areas of my life, that this was one I could hold. And so many people had succeeded at making me feel weak (and I had let them) that this was my chance to prove to myself that I was strong. I know it doesn't make any logical sense...but psychologically and emotionally, it made sense to me. But as delivery neared, a few problems began to arise and it appeared that I was going to have to be medically induced. I hadn't had pitocin with Noah or Ev, but I did with Landon. And I remember it well. Pitocin puts labor on steroids and I knew I wouldn't be able to do it naturally if it did to me what it did with Landon. But again, I had learned to hold things loosely and mostly, I just wanted a healthy baby. So the induction was set for Friday Aug 2. Initially it was supposed to be a morning induction, then it got moved to an evening induction. I changed child care options around a bit and rearranged my expectations (when you are knowingly facing labor, a 12 hour change is no small thing). I spent the morning chasing my kids around and purposely tried to savor nap time. I read Everett his story and rocked him for an extra few moments knowing it was the last day he would be my baby. Then I went to Noah's room and tried to read with him, but the nausea crept up and he kept asking me if I was going to throw up on his bed, so eventually I just kissed him and let him go to sleep. I tried to sleep for an hour, but knowing what lay ahead I was too anxious and excited, so I just laid there. Another crazy control aspect that I know came from my psychological/emotional deficit, was for things to be in order at home. I could control that. I had steam cleaned the carpets and furniture, deep cleaned the bathrooms and our bedrooms. I had swept ceilings and wiped baseboards and cupboards. I knew a baby didn't care about any of that. But I did. It made me feel like I was doing something to prepare, something tangible. So fast forward to Friday Aug 2, when I was trying to take that nap, I remembered the van wasn't clean. So I pulled the steam cleaner out and steam cleaned our vehicle. I was on my hands and knees doing that for a couple hours. Then I ran Noah to a birthday party and my mom and Jon met the rest of us at a restaurant for dinner. The hospital called and told me my induction may be bumped, and that they would let me know by 7:30-8. Enter anxiety. I was so ready to give birth at this point. But the call never came. So I jumped in the shower by 8 and was ready to kiss my kiddos goodbye at quarter to 9.

Then we began that monumental trek to the hospital. I was quickly checked in and in a gown. When they did the initial check I had progressed to a 3, with some other progress, AND I was contracting on my own. I knew that, but the contractions didn't feel much different than I had been feeling all week. Anyway, since my body was doing something on its own, we decided to wait until Sat morning before doing anything medical to bring on labor. At 6am Saturday morning they checked me and I had progressed to a 5-6, all on my own. No need for pitocin, I was in active labor. Thank you, Lord. My doctor broke my water at 6am and by 7, the contractions were very intense and very regular. Jonathan and my sister Brenn were there with me the whole time. I remember at one point they were conversing and I was alternating between sitting on a ball and leaning on the bed, thinking my body may rip in two, when I couldn't take listening to them talk anymore and asked them to please (I am not sure I said please) stop talking. At any rate, the room went silent ;-). By 9, I was convinced I was dying. I was still in good control but was wearing down. I asked the nurse to check me and she said I was an 8, and entering transition. Sure enough, it started. That whole awful transition thing. And the baby was sunny side up, so she had me lay on my side (excruciating) during the contractions in an effort to get the baby to turn. It took 6 or 7 contractions but he flipped and it was most certainly time to push. This is the part I lost control at with Everett, because no one had ever prepared me for the feeling that happens when the baby crowns. Let me tell you now, in case you don't know: it is as though a pressure bomb goes off. It absolutely panicked me with Everett, and I lost a lot of my "control." This time,  I knew what to expect but the agony was still ever present. When you are in that much pain all you can think is that if you push hard enough, it will all be over. You can make it end. So push I did. With all of me. And Everything. And it didn't take long. Three hours after breaking my water, I was holding my beautiful boy.

At our 20 week ultrasound I saw big, huge hands and feet, which tipped me off to this baby being a boy. And I had imagined him with hair the entire pregnancy. Most people I told that he would have hair laughed at me bc Everett is still practically bald at 2.5 years. But I knew this boy would have hair. And while I don't remember much that was said while I was pushing him out, I do remember the doctor saying she could see his hair. And I knew I was right. He was exactly as I imagined him. I gave one last push for all I was worth and she lifted my baby boy to my chest. He didn't cry at first, but I knew he was going to be ok. They eventually got him to cry a little on my chest and then took him to the warmer to look him over. The doctor got him riled up and crying and that helped to pink him up. He weighed in at 8 pounds, 7 ounces which was one ounce shy of his older brother (Ev was 8.8, but seemed MUCH bigger than Silas).

So in the end, I had my unmedicated, natural birth experience that I had very much wanted. Perhaps it was the steam cleaning on my hands and knees or maybe the raspberry leaf tea or evening primrose, or the extra 12 hours that I saw as a bad thing, but may have been the best thing. Or perhaps God just decided to give me this one. I am just grateful. Grateful it is over. Grateful to have a healthy baby. Grateful to eat food and have it taste good and not have to wonder what it will taste like after I eat it. Grateful to have my strength back. Grateful to shed the nausea that had become a way of life. Grateful to, at the very least, not feel physically weak any longer. In the days since having Silas, I can't help but stare at his every perfect feature and marvel at the miracle he is. That each baby who becomes a child who becomes an adult, is. The worth and value and intricate details that make each one of us precious miracles. The process of creating a life and sustaining it, and then birthing it into this world and watching as that life becomes independent of the mother testifies to God in undeniable ways. Knowing how my body changed to sustain life for my son, and then watching as my body shed those very things necessary for his life and he and I became independent of one another, and his own little body took over, is like witnessing a miracle.

I am just so grateful. Blessed. Four healthy sons. Silas is exactly who he was meant to be. Now we have the privelege of watching that unfold, that story be told. Welcome to the family, Silas Avery...you are so loved.

Waiting with Pregnant Expectation

The past few days have been an exercise in waiting...with pregnant expectancy. Contractions that come and go have me thinking one minute that its time, only to be doubting myself the next. The days and weeks before you meet your baby are absolutely full of an array of emotions. I find myself vacilating between  excitement and nervous anticipation (of labor). I lay here and see my belly rolling like waves on a sea, and I know that my baby is living and fully formed, ready to greet this place we call life. There are pictures to be taken, stories to be told, eyes to be met, tears to shed, smiles to glisten. And it could happen anytime. Anticipating a first child is an experience unlike any other. But so is anticipating future children...because you know the magic that is about to happen. You know the pain, you know the depths to which you are about to go to bring this child into the world. You know the smell of the beautiful newborn. You know the feeling the first time you meet his eyes. You know the feel of that tiny body scrunched up on yours, fully dependent on the one who carried him for nine months, only now in a more tangible way. You know. You know that infant so quickly changes into a smiling baby. And that baby into a crawling, walking, running toddler. And that toddler into a boy who like tractors and trains and says the silliest things. You know that boy turns into a middle schooler who still, on occasion flashes you that same look you saw in the delivery room, the first time your eyes met. You know. You know to treasure those moments. You know to let criticism roll of your back, and you know to trust your instincts. You know its ok to spend a little extra on that bottle of Dreft, and that its ok to open and close the drawer containing the baby clothes at least 400 times in the week preceding birth,  just to drink in the smell of impending baby. You know the miracle about to happen.

And when it is your last...I have found...you want it to happen so badly. You cannot wait to greet those eyes, and to write those stories, to take those pictures, to live that life, to meet that baby. But part of you, a tiny part is almost afraid for it to happen. Because you know that once it happens, its fleeting. Its so magical that you want it to last forever. I already want to savor each and every moment with this new child. I have given all I had to bring him to this point, and once he is born, every moment is a step of independence on his part. And a process of letting go for me. I know that. I have been through this three times prior. And even the letting go, is a beautiful story, an amazing process of hope and fear, success and failure, a blending together of life and love and grace, the continued process of the creation of a life. We as parents have that amazing responsibility. Its not just the carrying of the baby...it is the raising of the child, the creation of the adult. God gives us a part in it all. Its sobering and scary, but beautiful and redemptive. Just like birth.

It is a crazy feeling to be on the cusp of meeting a person who is going to change your life and family forever. And to know it is coming...any moment. It is as though life is literally pregnant with expectation...every moment of every day. Watching my children anticipate this event is magical too. Their eyes light up. They are each preparing in their own ways, and while I know they each grasp a little of what is about to happen to them, I know the truth. That they are about to gain a friend for life. A sibling who will share their experiences and secrets, who will laugh with them and cry with them. I know the gift they are about to receive. I know the sacrifices it will cost them, but I also know the gift. Because I have siblings. And for all the bad we may have endured (JASON ;-) ), when I look back now I can see the incredible value of the fact that we had each other. That our histories are intertwined in a way that no one else can understand. That Brenn and I can commiserate because of our shared life, and that Kelly and I have a lifetime of memories and Jen taught me all I know about the important things in life from all of our basement bedroom discussions, and that Jason and I had each other when life was tumultous and uncertain. My children are about to gain a sibling. Its an incredible gift.

And so I wait. With pregnant anticipation. Six days or less and the story begins. A new story. And oh how we can use this new beginning with all of its ups and downs. I am pregnant with anticipation at the joy and wonder I know is a breath away. Literally, a first breath away.

A Search for Redemption

Its July 23, 2013.  It was close to this date last summer that the beginning of the end began. The signs that inevitably led me where I had no idea I would end up. The beginning of the end of a plot line that I had no idea I was taking part in. A story with an ending that didn't exist. Will never exist.

When I started this new blog I mentioned that I felt I would forever hate August because of the association it had with what happened. But that this baby was due in August. And that felt redemptive. And it is. And I have hope for that. Because so much has gone wrong since August. What I thought was the end, was really just the beginning of more. I remember running every evening last August and September to the tune of Tenth Avenue North's song, Worn.
I would try to pound out on the pavement what was haunting me throughout my day.  Its July 23 of the following year...I am still looking for that redemption. Still waiting for life's circumstances to get better, not worse. Someone asked me today if the hardest things I have been through in my life make sense to me in the now. I am close enough to this person to be honest and I had to say that no, most of them, certainly everything from the the past 365 days have yet to be redeemed. I am so glad that I didn't know then what I know now. I wouldn't have wanted to know that life would make less sense now, a year later, than it did in the thick of it. That August was just the beginning of a whole series of unrelated and yet life altering events. There isn't one area of my life left untouched. I feel like this year was meant to crush me. To change me. To attack the core of who God made me to be. And it has, at times. And I have changed. But I don't know how it will end. The story is still being written.

I told my friend today that I am weak. She told me that I am strong because I am not hiding or dulling the pain. I don't feel strong. Its not just what happened, it is the emotional wreckage that has been left behind. The fact that these things were fashioned with pointed tips, specifically for my heart. The fact that try as I might to sift through it all, I can't find a place to land. I am not fully confident what the ramifications should be for my faith, my life, my calling, my relationships, my heart.

I know most of you who read this don't know what has happened, and very few know all that has transpired. I can't share most of it, for various reasons. Its not about the details anyway. I hate when people "vague post" and it is clear that they are really just hooking us making us wonder on so many levels what in the world happened. I promise I am not trying to do that. I ask that you don't ask me what happened. That you respect the fact that I will share what I can with whom I can, when I am ready.
I guess as I listen to Worn now, a year later, I am also reminded that we are not promised that all will be redeemed (make sense) this side of Heaven, nor that we can tie difficult things up with a neat little bow. I think Christians (humans) are so quick to look for meaning and "the lesson to be learned" that when we can't figure it out, or when we are unable to name the silver lining, we panic a bit. As though our trials are worth nothing. They are never worth nothing. But sometimes, sometimes, you just have to hunker down and cling. As I teach my Stress students, there are times that you don't have to keep swinging to stay in a match...you just have to stay upright. You just have to keep that tiny seed of hope so that you don't give up. And as tempted as I have been, I think I have learned that times like these are NOT the best time to give up on all you have always believed in, lived for, stood for. Those things may have been taken, I may have handed some over, but I am clinging to what is left for dear life. Choosing with my mind, when my heart fails me. Do I know that God will redeem all of this? Yes. But I am not certain it will be this side of Heaven.

Nine months ago I said that God redeemed the month of August by choosing that as the month of birth for our new baby. I think there is some measure of truth to that, but it doesn't take the flashbacks away. The questions still come. The tears still spring up. I am distracted by the waiting...the beautiful expectancy of a new life. That helps tremendously. But to think that this whole year (or really almost 2 if I go back to the start of the unravelling) will make sense is perhaps a bit unrealistic. I think perhaps the redemption comes in the laughter of my two year old, the sense of adventure I see in my almost 10 year olds eyes when he tries something new and exciting, and the endless zest for life that exudes from my 6 year old. The glimpse of a setting sun, the rising of a new one, the timely encouragement from a friend, the promises of Truth that I am choosing to believe in the face of trial.
So I face August with an aire of expectancy. The pregnant expectancy of the new life moving within me. But not with the expectancy that this month will be easy. Or the one to follow. I will take a day at a time. If I have learned anything this year, that is it. If nothing else, as this baby enters the world I will gain back my physical strength and I have a sense that hope will come with that. I will labor this child into the world, as a symbol of the fight I have for life, as it was meant to be. What that looks like, I am unsure. But I will fight. I will stand. I will hope.

Perspective

Last night I had an awful dream. I dreamed that we were at a pool and Everett was a the bottom of the pool, struggling, but unable to get up. I jumped in immediately and swam down to get him. He was crying audibly in the water (not possible) but in my dream, it struck me how odd it was that he could cry under water. Anyway...I got him up and out and he was crying really hard and saying over and over, "Mama, save me?" Questioning me and longing for the right answer. And I kept telling him, "Yes, Mommy saved you. Mommy got you out, its ok!" I woke up and everything in me wanted to go get him out of his crib and just feel the warmth of his body and feel the rhythmic breathing of his little body. I literally ached for him. And then I thought of what it would be like if that happened and I didn't get there fast enough. It happens to millions of parents every year. And if it isn't drowning, its something else. Some tragedy that flies in unexpected...always unexpected...and changes every part of life as you know it.

So today was one of those days where I cherished moments instead of hurrying through them. The terrible mess of corn on the cob and baked beans and turkey burger crumbs strewn all over the kitchen didn't look like an hour long mess to clean up, but instead it looked like my kids ate well and enjoyed themselves. I savored watching Everett shove the corn in his mouth by the fist fulls. Even the poopy underpants...I can't say I savored cleaning them out... but I thanked God for the boy who could soil them. When I found Landon's "potion" concoction under the sink, instead of thinking of all the ways it could spill or cause a mess, I thanked God for the ten year old creative brain that concocted the science experiment. When I went to vacuum Landon and Noah's room and found it full of army men strewn about every flat surface...I felt a sense of contentment that my boys could create this play world in the safety of their own home, flexing the muscles of their creativity. When Noah dumped an entire bucket of leaves on my kitchen counter declaring that they were salmon that he caught "fishing off the deck"I left them there all day...telling him I would "cook them up" and "oh how good they would taste." These little "inconveniences" that we often bemoan as parents because they make our jobs that much more difficult are actually the gathering of beautiful memories. It is all in the perspective.

And oh how I have lost perspective lately. I am just done with pregnancy. Done. All I can see is that I have another day, another night (those are long too due to pregnancy insomnia), another week. I want to feel healthy, have energy, not fight constant nausea, not be a slave to food, be able to bend over, have mental and emotional energy for my existing children. I want my life back.

But that perspective thing. My body, although it hates pregnancy and causes me great problems with nausea and vomitting, has housed and nurtured and birthed (almost) 4 human beings. Four beautiful souls. And I am about to meet this one. I am on the cusp of receiving the fruit of my labor. I have lived every one of these ten months in agony, but it all becomes worth it in an instant. When I see that face. And meet those eyes. And feel the quick little breaths as that new baby sleeps on my chest. I would do it all a thousand times over for the children I have, and this one is no different.

Anyone who has a child knows how difficult it is. The relentless work, the bickering, the monotony, the snot and poop and puke that we clean up and clean up again. But in an instant, truly a fleeting second, my children can make it all worth it. A smile. An eyebrow raise. An extra cuddle. Watching them learn, create, imagine, make right decisions, be kind, care about another soul, love. They exhaust me, regularly. But they fill my life with everything that means the most to me. And I thank God that for this moment, I have three sleeping children in the safety of their beds and one in the safety of my womb, my uncomfortableness a daily reminder that the child is growing and healthy. Perspective. I will lose it again...possibly even tonight. But my quest is to keep it ever before me. To be thankful more and critical less. To enjoy more than complain. To love more than judge. And to seize the moments that make up the days...because this life is ever so short and none of us know anything beyond this very moment.

My How Time Flies

I have sciatic nerve pain radiating down my leg and I am so tired I could cry and the cereal I just ate to help my vitamin go down may or may not come back up, but I HAVE to take even just five minutes to document this night.

Tonight started the baseball season for us. Landon hasn't played since Kindergarten and this is Noah's first year. They both had their first practice at different fields and an hour apart...and Jonathan came home with a migraine. So that meant dinner was done by 5:15 and the next 4 hours were spent driving back and forth to the fields and home, dropping kids at intervals. It was great fun. But here is the part that I have to get down into writing...in case I forget, and how easy it is to forget.

Noah's t-ball practice is at the same field that Landon played at when he was in Kindergarten. It was like deja vu going back. Watching Noah play in the dirt and miss the fielders, watching the little boys swing mercilessly at the t, missing almost every time. But the real kicker was when I took Everett to the play ground at the field. You see, three years ago, Landon was in Kindergarten and Noah was not quite 3 years old and playing on that same playground. And Everett was a gleam in my eye, albeit soon to be growing in my belly. As I watched Everett climb the dragon shaped stairs and sit at the top of the slide I kept having flashbacks to Noah doing the same thing. As I watched Noah running and playing on the field...I kept flashing back to my white blond haired 6 year old Landon doing the same thing. And it hit me. Just how fast the time has gone. How much growing up these boys have done. How they have switched places in the blink of an eye.

And then I went to Landon's third grade team practice...the one with the fast paced pitching machine. And I watched as the boys took athletic stances and nice strides into the ball when batting. How tall and old my boy looked out there on the field. And I knew in an instant, that I will blink and it will be my red haired, freckle faced Noey out there on the 3rd grade field. It happens so fast.

As I walked back to my car I couldn't help but breathe in the air and flash back to my days on the field. And how they felt like yesterday. How the sound of the bat against the ball made me automatically want to reach for the ball. It went so fast. Its been 14 years since I was a senior in high school.

And that is when I decided I had to write this down. Because SO often I want to rush my children out of a "difficult" stage. I yearn for more freedom and independence. When the days wear long and the kids are sick, or Everett won't eat, or Noah gets over tired...I see myself just wishing the day to end. But tonight I was reminded of how fast all of these days turn into weeks, and literally in what feels like the blink of an eye...years. How kids change places and grow up while we watch unaware because we are so stuck in the day to day. I don't want to forget. I don't want to wish them grown. The white blond haired Kindergartner turned into my tall, loving, wonderful almost 10 year old overnight. And the red haired, pudgy almost three year old...he turned into my tall, slender mischievous joy boy who can read and do math problems at the speed of light. And that gleam in my eye...he talks and climbs stairs and goes down the slide all by himself straight into my arms and laughs all the way. So much before them. So much behind them. I was reminded tonight...just how fast it goes. And I needed that reminder because the day to day can be wearing. But its the day to day that makes up the living...our life...our memories...and they change in the blink of an eye.

Silenced

I like to write. A lot. It helps me to sort out what I feel inside. And I feel a lot. Too much. I sometimes wish I was one of those people who could just go about life without the inside turmoil that I often feel. But then I wouldn't be me. Which doesn't seem so bad sometimes, depending on how I feel inside. ;-)

But I feel silenced as of late. For awhile I guess. Something happened (obviously) last summer and nothing has been right since. I can't discuss the details of what happened, nor am I ready if I could. For months, I couldn't blog. I had to actually lock my blog as it was an access point for this person. So until I got everything switched over to here and made this blog as anonymous as I could (no personal name, info, etc), there was no blogging. I like blogging better than journaling. I am afraid to journal, literally terrified of what may spill out onto the page. But blogging requires a certain filter and having that in place makes me feel safer and the writing is somehow more therapeutic.

And yet there is so much I need to say. Its not just this person who silenced me. It is the expectations. People expect me to have it together. Always have. And when I don't, it makes me want to hide in shame. Truth is that people don't like messy. When something is wrong, the first question people ask is what happened. We want there to be a cause, a series of events that we can walk through and tie up with a neat bow. But what happens when so many things run together that it all becomes a tangled mess. When up and down appear in the same direction. When you don't have an answer for the question, or when you feel if you even began to try to explain, you would get stuck three words in. Time moves on. People expect us to move. And I have moved. I have always looked for the silver lining. Reframed. Sought to grow. Looked for the lesson. Hoped. I have moved considerably in the past 9 months. In the past year and a half. But the questions were never answered. And its as though they demand an answer because life keeps hammering on and with each defining event the questions echo louder and louder.

But our Christian culture, in particular, doesn't like questions. Questions mean doubt and that scares people. Its a chink in the armor. But is it? Christians have silenced me. Its not about last summer. Its about the deep, raw pain inside that has always been there. Its about the questions that have arisen as life has continued to happen the past 11 years. The questions that cliches just don't touch. That platitudes just make worse. When will we wake up and realize that people are going down all around us? Going down in depression...yes, but also in disbelief, in tradition, in selfishness, in guilt, in fear. When will we choose to be courageous enough to sit with someone who is there? And not feel the need to open our mouths with neat answers when none really exist. When there aren't words or easy explanations. Jesus wept when Lazarus died. He knew He would raise him from the dead, but he still wept. Why? Why didn't he just turn immediately to joy? I think it is because so often to feel the joy, we have to learn to experience the grief. Experience...not just feel, but EXPERIENCE. That takes time. Stop running from it. Stop bandaiding it. If Christians could be honest we would sit down together and say the real stuff: "I am apathetic." "I don't understand where God is in all of this tragedy." "I want to feel loved so badly I am afraid of what I might do." But we don't. We go to church, with this mirage that we are ok. So everyone else does the same. And no one is really real. And when they are, we call them struggling. We should ALL be struggling. Living in this world which we were not meant for, should be a struggle. We see half the picture here. This life is all about the struggle. Admit it. How much encouragement and growth could actually occur if we could just admit this and meet together in this place. People could be real. Instead of fake. You can't deal with fake. It isn't real. We need to learn to speak to real needs. But first we have to stop denying that they exist, or worse, judging those that have them. We judge out of fear. Fear out of what is lurking in our own souls.

I would love to just put it all out there. But experience has taught me to keep my mouth shut. To keep on keeping on with the mirage that it all fits together nicely. People have continuously taught me that they cannot be trusted. Not that everyone lies or gossips. But have you ever asked yourself why it is so difficult to be honest with someone about the reality of your heart? Very few people are able to deal with the reality of a pain filled heart. And those that can...are those that have been there. That stopped denying. That stopped faking it. That asked the difficult questions. That persevered. That aren't afraid of others pain because they know the raw darkness from personal experience. They have been there, so journeying with you through yours doesn't terrify them. They know that the night is darkest before the dawn, but that sometimes the dawn doesn't come when we think it should.

Emotion is not sensationalizing. It is real. It is God-given. No we should not run our lives based upon emotion or feeling. But good grief. Can we please admit that it has a place. Sometimes that place is that it needs to be controlled (anxiety). But its still real. Sometimes that emotion is related to something physical (clinical depression) but the emotions involved with depression are absolutely real...hopelessness, sadness...so real in fact that people describe severe depression/anxiety as absolutely hellish. And how could it not be? Many people experiencing it end their lives rather than enduring another day of it. Pain is absolutely universal. Every single person reading this has experienced pain. Our sources are all different, but at some point they intersect. And that point is where real relationship has the potential to grow into something beautiful.

Stop hiding. Stop judging. Admit and face your own. And then use it...to join someone in the trenches of doubt, fear, hopelessness.

You know why I love people who are "struggling" so much? Because they have the courage to admit it. They are the few who are real. And only when we are real, can anything truly happen. Everything else is just fake. Like most of us. I thank God for the real people in my life, and I hope that I have the courage to continuously admit that I don't have it all together, and that I question, and that I don't understand, and that I have done a lot wrong, and that I have known darkness, and that I fear the judgment of others, and that I am not ok. Its the very fact that we are not ok, that makes us need saving, often from ourselves. Someone offers that saving, but to accept that, we must be real. And to be real we must stop judging everybody else and take a look at what lurks within.

And with that I hit submit...heart pounding, and the safety of silence begins to feel more and more appealing, albeit it incredibly lonely.