Getting out of Debt

A few weeks back a milestone came and went. Life these days often happens in a flurry of activity and this particular night, the epic moment was really just the click of a computer mouse. It was the final payment of my student loan. But it was even more than that...it was the last and final debt payment, aside from mortgage.

About 7 years ago Jon and I started a plan to get out of debt...all debt. Sounds crazy...and we had undergraduate student loans, graduate student loans, car loans, credit cards, etc. It seemed the hill was just too high to climb, and yet when we went to refinance our house that year, we ran into some snags that ultimately made us realize to what degree we were slaves to the bank because of our debt. So we started...and month after month, year after year, the debt mountain got smaller and smaller. We no longer used credit cards and we paid cash for vacations and gifts, or we did not go on the vacation or buy the coveted item. Crazy things happened soon after we started...our washing machine died, our fridge died, our dishwasher died, we added two children, we finished our basement. Oh the basement. Jon worked very hard to finish our basement debt free. He did 99% of the work himself: electical, plumbing, painting, dry wall, made his own trim, built a fireplace, tiled the bathroom, built bookshelves. This was a huge sacrifice on both of our ends, and took us nearly two years to complete. But we did it...without a dollar of debt. We carefully paid as we went, and although there were times I thought the house would be torn up forever and it would never be finished...we now have a beautiful basement family room, study, bathroom and big boys room.

I have worked for nearly 6 years, and every single paycheck has gone to debt. With the click of that mouse button, it meant for the first time we would start to see those work dollars enter the bank instead of leave it.

With so much yuck going on lately, this seems something to celebrate. And yet it still slipped by. I wanted to take just a moment to commemorate that little click of the mouse...the culmination of some serious hard work and sacrifice.

On Planning for the Future

I recently had a student ask me how it is that some kids are able to know what they want with their lives and begin accomplishing it (pursuing it) from early on. My response was multi-faceted, but personally, I was just that girl who knew. I knew how God had equipped me and that He had created me for people. I knew early on that I was called to ministry, although I wasn't sure exactly how that would play out. In high school my peers would come to me with their teenage angst and I would "counsel" them or walk with them through whatever was going on. It felt natural and I loved that they felt safe with me. When I went to college I majored in social work, wanting to one day have a safe place where pregnant moms who had no where else to turn to, could come and find refuge, hope and healing. But it didn't take long for reality to hit my idealistic self in the face, and after a rough internship watching drug deals go bad and babies suffering in drug homes (which I was fully unprepared for as a nieve 18 year old), I decided that I was better cut out for psychology than social work, so I switched my major and my focus. I wanted to be a therapist. I loved studying psychology and I loved my internship. I enjoyed my instructors and soaked up every textbook. I was going to go get my masters straight away, but we were surprised with our first pregnancy 6 months after getting married and all plans went out the window. It took me nearly two years to settle into parenting enough that I was ready to pursue my masters degree. I worked hard, loved every second of it. The work and the time was difficult but so interesting. I was so close to becoming a therapist. My internship fell into my lap, or was given to me as an unexpected gift of God. It was a sink or swim kind of deal...my first day I had my first client, who was struggling with depression, addiction, and suicidal ideation. I was terrified. She taught me more than I ever taught her.
That internship set me up to fall deeper in love with counseling. I learned more than I ever thought possible in those nine months. At the end, I earned a diploma, but was given the real gift of licensure which meant that I could now officially journey with others as a therapist. At the same time, a teaching opportunity opened up. It shouldn't have...they usually don't hire therapists to teach psychology courses. But they took a risk on me and I thought I would try it, having no idea how much I would love it. I earned more classes, counseled, and continued to grow our family. By the time we had three kids, it was time to move my counseling job up here to Holland which also happened seamlessly. After 10 months of counseling and teaching and having three kids I was losing my mind, and had to give up something. Much to my own shock and amazement, I decided to stick with teaching and shelve counseling until another season. At the same time that I gave up counseling,  I was asked to teach online for my alma mater. I continued teaching, now for two schools and growing our family. It seemed that my course was being set and all signs pointed towards the teaching route. I knew that meant I would eventually need a doctorate, but I figured I would go after that once all of the kids were in school. Part of me missed the counseling although I kept my hands in it here and there with case consultations. I had ended my counseling career on a somewhat traumatic note and my spirit warred against whatever calling I had. In fact a few opportunities to pick it back up came along and the mere thought of it would send my heart into a tailspin. Besides, if I could get a teaching job at a 4 year school, I could get free tuition for my kiddos, and since there are 4 of them and college is ridiculously expensive, this seemed like a great goal.
I set my sights on Hope College...a 4 year school right here in Holland. It seemed impossible to ever get a foot in the door there, especially as a therapist with only a masters degree. But a series of interesting things happened and one day I got a call for an immediate need for an adjunct instructor at Hope. And they wanted me. I could hardly believe it.
I have enjoyed the challenge immensely, although I will say it is an entirely new playing field. Everyone there has a doctorate. And no one has a degree in counseling. This semester I have been discussing with a seasoned colleague there about the future. She said that to ever get a full time position at Hope I need a doctorate (which I knew) but also that it would need to be from a Big 10 university. That would mean a move. And it would mean eating, sleeping, and breathing grad school for two years...if I could even get into one of these progams. And in that moment, my plan imploded. Because that just isn't going to work. I have a son going into to junior high and high school and little kids to nurture and practice spelling words with. I cannot, nor do I want to, disappear for two years. And it isn't me. I  still love teaching. But my plan for this second act of my life is not the direction I am supposed to walk.
I am reminded of the last time my plans imploded. It was in Cedarville, OH when I took a pregnancy test that changed my life. When I was a 21 year old senior in college with no insurance and no money and a brand new marriage, carrying a baby in my womb. I am and always have been a "planner" by nature. But in those early years God continuously blew my plans up until I gave them up. And I have never really had to seek out a job since. When I earned my masters I called it God's degree because it wasn't clear to me exactly what to do with it., but I knew I was supposed to get it. I never had to pursue a job or a direction once I earned that degree. He has always made it clear. Always provided.
So here I am with no plan for what is next. I will say that for years I have bristled at the idea of counseling again. I have run from it with many valid reasons why. I am not ready to run back to it. And if I ever do it again I am not sure what capacity it may be. But I will say that this weekend I presented a conference and one of my clients was there from way back in my first year of counseling. I talked with her for awhile, she sat in on my session, and then we parted ways. Right before my second session started, she called me out into the hallway because she had to leave and wanted to say goodbye. She looked me in my eye and said, "Kristen I need you to know that I would not be here today if it were not for you. " "You believed in me, pushed me to grab ahold of Hope, reminded me of what was good in this world, got me help when I needed it, and journeyed with me when I was all alone." Today she has 5 grandchildren and a life full of joy that she could never have imagined 6 years ago when we had to call for suicide prevention. It was the first time in 3 long years that I have felt the tug in my heart. I have no idea what this second act of my life will be now that I am done having kids. But I know Who does. I am going to just keep being faithful in what I have been given right now...4 awesome boys to raise into men, three teaching jobs that I love, occasional speaking engagements that I enjoy immensely. Perhaps Act 2 will be a scaling back, or a pushing forward. Perhaps it will be paving a new way in uncharted territory. I am not even promised an Act 2. So I just want to be faithful in today. Tomorrow has repeatedly promised to take care of itself.
Nap time is finishing up here in this house. I had great plans to finish this blog before my little ones awoke. But Silas woke early needing a bit of cuddling. I went in and rocked him, his chubby little fingers curled tightly around my arm. As I went to put him back in the crib so I could come finish my "plan" of blogging, he woke back up crying. So I gave in and rocked him for a good half hour, dozing myself on and off to the rhythmic sound of his breathing and the soft feel of his chubby cheek on my shoulder and soft hair against my face. It was precious. Something I would have entirely missed had I been too focused on my plan. It is interesting to note that if we open our eyes how many life lessons like this are all around us every single day. We can solve the big, by being faithful with the small. Gain insight into life's big problems by purposely tuning into the little moments of our day.
Life is rather cyclical, and right now I feel all the similar feelings I felt as an 18 year old just starting out. But I am so grateful that I can look back and see God's faithfulness to supply, direct, provide, and instruct. How He used the difficult to teach, and how He made such beauty from the ashes of my original plans.

To Be Known

I haven't blogged in months. My return is so daunting. Every time I carve out the time, I sit down here at the keyboard and literally 2000 reasons well up inside of me as to why I have nothing to say. And I listen every time. I shut the computer screen and walk away. Nearly every day a blog post swirls around in my brain, but each day I am either too busy or just want to avoid the awful feeling I have right now as I sit here and try to type. So I am taking my own advice. Start small. Start with what you know. Hope for the best.

I attended a funeral a couple of weeks back for a woman very, very dear to me. Her son gave a beautiful tribute to his mom. He told a story of how as a teen he was on the football team, and his mom, despite knowing nothing about football and being naturally disinterested in it, attended his games and washed his jersey and supported him in necessary ways. But one day...one day he caught her reading a book on the basics of football. I imagine him peeking around the corner as she sat on the couch trying to study this book. Whatever the scene was, he never forgot that she was making herself a student of her boy.

This story got me in a place that I like to keep hidden. That place that speaks of my own desire to be known. The part that often questions my worth. I realized that I purposely do this with my boys. I always have. I have spent hours watching Star Wars and Ninjago, and researching garbage trucks. I have become very knowledgeable about pokemon cards (something I see no value in aside from the fact that my son is very interested in them) and I can tell you everything you need to know about each of the five Samurai Power Rangers. I do this because I always want my boys to know that they are seen. That they are known. That what is important to them is important to me. That I love their individual personalities and interests. I never, ever want them to wonder if they were known. This doesn't mean they get whatever they want. It means I learn it all, so we can talk about it, dream about it, play it.  Its my way of purposefully connecting with each of my sons. I think it would be easier if we were talking Little House on the Prairie dresses and how to style a barbie doll's hair, but I have learned that easy is rarely best. I remember when I found out our first child was a boy, I called my mom crying. I went into the ultrasound completely sure that I had no preference on the gender of my child. But then when it was confirmed I was carrying a boy, I lost it. The only words I could get out to her were, "But mom, I don't know anything about boys!" Her response to me is one I have never forgotten:" You will, Honey...you will know all that you need to know about boys." And she was right.

But most relationships that are deep and abiding and safe...are those that are purposeful. I naturally connected with my boys by nature of being their mother. But I chose to jump in to their interests. To be more than a bystander in a family of boys as the only female. As a young child, I remember wishing my biological dad knew what my favorite color was. What my best friend's name was. What my favorite cereal was. Even then, I longed to be known. I can still remember the moment in the hospital when Landon was born and I held him close. It was the wee hours of the morning the day after he was born, the sun still asleep. I was all alone with him as I looked into those little eyes and promised to know him. To seek connection with him. So he would know he is worthy of my time and my interest, more than just the typical stuff parents "have" to provide. I promised that my love would be tangibly applied to every area of his life. When you grow up as a child who had what she "needed" from a one parent, but not what she desperately longed for from that parent...it is a precious, priceless gift to be able to choose to offer those things to your own child and know the difference that will make. And this my friends, is how beauty comes from ashes. Life from death. New from old. 

Sometimes both parents fail at knowing their children. These children often have no idea of their worth and set out to prove it in all the wrong ways. There is beauty here too. If you never felt known, never felt loved, then listen to that still small voice that desperately wants to grab hold of the idea that you have a Heavenly Father Who wove you together, who knows you better than anyone here ever could, Who loves you more that your even capable of comprehending, and Who is, in ways we don't fully understand, weaving it all together to bring you Home to Himself.

When remembering his mom, how is it that out of a lifetime of memories, finding her with that book spoke the loudest to my friend? Its because in that instant, he felt known. He felt wanted...and loved. Connected. And safe. And out of that beautiful abundance, he now knows and loves his own children. Purposefully living in the overflow of redemption rather than the deficit of hurt. 

Back To A Corner

Some parents will judge me for this. I would say don't, but I have been in this parenting arena for long enough to know that there will be judgement. And I am ok with that, mostly. Something about exposure toughens the skin a bit, so I am have become more adept at letting it roll off my back.

The other day I was enjoying my time nursing Silas. When he was done, he happily got off my lap and toddled over to the bookshelf which sits katty corner in his room. As such, there is a corner between the shelf, the wall and his changing table/dresser. He was intent on reaching a particular toy on the shelf, and he succeeded in grabbing it with his chubby little hand. However, in so doing, he got himself stuck. Stuck between the shelf, wall and dresser. There was only one way out, he had to back up, as in, walk backwards. Oh, and his old fashioned telephone on wheels was blocking his path, so he would not only have to walk backwards, he would have to maneuver around the telephone. Did I mention he only learned to walk forwards a month ago? So I am sitting here watching all of this play out. I could see in his eyes the moment he decided he wanted out of the corner...and then I recognized the look on his face when he realized it wasn't going to be an easy escape. And then I watched as he paused and contemplated what to do. And as he contemplated, so did I. You see, I was within arms reach. I easily could have plucked him up and out of that corner and on his merry little way. But instead, I sat there mesmerized by the process, contemplating my own actions. Instead of plucking him out, I decided to see what he would do. There was minimal risk of injury, however, all babies fall and with falls there is always some risk. But no huge hazard. So I let him figure it out. First he hung onto the shelf and pushed his foot backwards. Upon feeling the telephone, he knew it wasn't going to be easy. So then he gripped tighter and pushed harder backwards with his one foot, knocking the telephone toy almost out of his way. From there he grabbed whatever else was in his reach and slowly inched his way out of the corner. Once free, he triumphantly glanced at me, scrunched up his nose in a "I did it" sort of way and happily toddled on his way.

As I sat there, I couldn't help but notice the correlation between my own "corners" and my own Parent. It seems so often we get angry at God for not getting us out, or moving, or healing, or stopping, or whatever. I let Silas be independent. And in so doing, I risked him falling. But he learned a skill he will need for the rest of his life. And I was right there. If he had faltered, I would have reached out to catch him before he hit the ground. He thought he was alone. But I was right there. I just didn't rescue him. Not in the way he initially wanted to be rescued. Because I knew that he needed to learn, and I believed in him enough that I gave him the gift of freedom...to learn. How many times have I cried out to God to rescue me? Sometimes He has...as in, He plucks me out and sets me on higher ground. But so many more times, I didn't sense him in the immediate sense. He did not pluck me out. I cried out wondering why He had left me. Why I had to face this alone? And all the while He was right there. I had backed myself into the proverbial corner, and He was right there to catch me if I fell, but He knew I needed to learn how to back up more than I needed immediate rescue.

Christianity is not for the weak. It is not for the people who need a crutch. At least not the Christ following I witness and experience. Trust is difficult...one of the most difficult emotions and actions required of a human. Doubt is easy. It comes naturally. We doubt God, we doubt ourselves, we doubt other people...its what humans do. But trust...trust is a thought, its a feeling, its an action. When my back is to  a corner doubt rushes in on a dime...like a flood it comes through every crack in my armor. But trust is what fortifies the structure. The two war against one another like opposite and opposing forces.  Doubt always leads to isolation. Isolation from others (ruins relationships) and from God. We might feel safe, but we are all alone. Trust invites risk...the risk of pain...but when we choose to trust we open up to relationship. To find reward, we must always risk.

What I have learned is that in the process of rescuing us, God is always there. It may not look as we imagined it would, but He is there. Even if we fall...His is the hand that catches us...the only thing between us and the bottom. You may have fallen a long, long way...but He did not let you go. He knows the value of the lesson you and I need to learn. He is confident in our abilities (the people He has made us to be) to figure this out. He isn't snatching us out, because while that might make Him look good, He is more interested in refining us, teaching us, growing us, which invites us into an opportunity to experience deeper relationship with Him. Nothing about this life is easy, but no one ever said it would be. Love demands trust, trust invites deeper relationship. Immediate rescue is not the only way to build trust.  Sometimes instead of plucking us out, Love is there to catch you.

Emotional Runner

I just don't like to run. I got myself quite addicted to it before getting pregnant with Silas. I thought it wasn't possible...but I did it. Then I became pregnant and fell out of the habit...had a good three weeks of loving it again this fall. And now its back to grueling. But I did it tonight...and on my first lap it started to rain. By lap three I could really feel the cool rain hitting my forehead and the crown of my head. I began to think how uncomfortable it was and realized very quickly how adept I have become at pushing bad feelings aside, both physically and emotionally. I think part of it is being a parent. My kids feel EVERYTHING. Especially, the little ones...a hang nail, a split hair, a sliver, a bleeding owie, a bruise, even a mosquito bite. But these overwhelming sensations wear off with time and we learn to push the pain to the side so that its not so all consuming. This is good because if an adult were whining to me about their hang nail like my little kids do, I am quite sure I would have to restrain myself from slapping them silly. Anyway...in a matter of seconds I literally could not feel the cold rain anymore. And I was amazed. And then I realized how I have become so good at this. When I was pregnant, with each child, I became more and more able to push through situations and feelings that I had prior to, thought impossible. With Silas, I would literally convince myself that I simply didn't have the time or energy to feel...anything. It worked enough to get me through each day (and I threw up more spontaneously with him than any other one), but it wasn't all good. In June of last year (I was 7 months pregnant), I was sitting on the couch feeling nothing but my daily nausea, when all of a sudden I was cast into the worse pain I have ever felt. It was immediate. I literally crawled into my room (so as not to scare the boys), and texted my good friend (and neighbor) to come over...NOW.  I thought I was dying...nothing relieved the pain, it was my entire abdomen, and while it hurt to the degree of contractions, it didn't feel like a contraction and there was no break... it was just constant pain. My doctor told me to wait a half hour and to come in if it was still that bad. I waited 5 minutes and went in. I knew it was bad. I was checked in and monitored. I was contracting, but that was a secondary issue...my body was in trauma and it was inducing labor. After two hours of nothing except writhing in pain on the bed, it stopped as quickly as it had started. At that time, the nurse said she needed a urine sample. I told her I didn't want to move for fear it would start again. She said I had to. So I went into the bathroom, did my business and in the process, delivered a stone. Yep, you read that correctly. I passed a kidney stone on my own, unmedicated, in the span (start to finish) of 3-4 hours start to finish. Most intense pain of my entire life...worse than natural labor.
I think looking back, the reason it happened so intensely, is because I missed all the warning signs. I had never had one before or any kidney issue, in fact. But beyond that, I was so focused on survival, and not feeling (either physically or emotionally), that I was just happy to get through each day. So I missed it. And now I see how good I have become at not feeling. But I also realize that this is not healthy. It is like anything else, we can take it too far. And I have. Pain is an indicator of a greater problem. We don't want to miss those valuable warning signs. But if we have ourselves numb to the pain (physically or emotionally), we will miss the warning signs and be waist deep in trauma before we even realize it.
For as much as I hate physically running, I am an emotional runner. Its what I do. Its what I have always done. When I feel scared or vulnerable or hurt, I run. I hide. I cloak myself in anger and isolation and build walls of safety in an instant. And I hide behind those walls. Taking those walls down is so very difficult. And the more times I try to take those walls down brick by brick, the higher they go if a wound is reopened. And before I know it, I look around at my walls and realize that I am safe...nothing is getting through those walls...but I am all alone. Safe...but alone.
We were made for community. For relationships. But those of us that have been hurt in relationships (ok, so that is anyone and everyone reading these words), sometimes we start sliding down the slope of cynicism. Bitterness creeps in and robs us of every bit of beauty we once saw so easily in this world, in others, in relationships. So how do we stop it? How do we reengage? Is it worth the risk? I read today that "Happiness is an act of courage." Stop and think about that for a moment.
Joy requires hope.
Hope requires faith.
Faith requires belief.
Belief requires knowledge
Knowledge requires wisdom
Happiness isn't something that just happens to us. It is something we have to be purposeful about. Joy is all around us, but we have to actively tune into it and often, actively choose it. Which is no small feat in this crazy world. It takes an act of courage to begin again. To try again. To feel again. To love again. Courage to hope.
So lets lift our faces up to the rain. Stop running. Choose a path, and follow it, embracing the decision to rebuild rather than destroy and start anew. These are lovely words. But so very difficult in practice. Only the courageous will survive. After all, "Joy is an act of courage."

Social Media ~ With Power Comes Responsibility

With power comes responsibility. I tell this to my kids all of the time. I teach it to my students. I try to own it in my life. There is so much power in social media. Power to hurt...power to build up. Power to convince and persuade. Power to lead astray. Power to encourage...power to tear down. Power to inform. So. Much. Power. From a psychological standpoint...I can tell you that the reason home based businesses want you to turn to facebook is because if you put information in front of people daily, whether they are for it or against it, indifferent or already persuaded...if they see it every day in front of them...their curiosity will be perked. Its human nature. Same goes for religious beliefs. Diets. Parenting theories. The list could go on endlessly. And you represent those things you stand for...you give them a name. Facebook is like a limitless newsfeed...our minds are constantly hit with conflicting arguments from every angle. Vaccinate or your kids will die. Don't vaccinate...and they will die. Gluten free will kill you. Gluten free will save you. Love others no matter what they have done. But those same people seem to hate those they term as bigot  Christ followers. I got tired of the noise. The constant, unending noise. It wasn't just the conflicting information constantly bombarding my senses (or the subtle psychological manipulation)...it was the comments too. The hate. The need to be right. One of the people in my newsfeed posted something about parenting and how she hates parents who... and guess what...I do that thing she mentioned. So she hates me? And the passive aggressive nature of posts. I know passive aggressive. Its my go-to when I am upset. So I can pick it out immediately because I can be a pro at executing it (just ask my husband). For as much as I am working on that...it angers me immediately when I experience the other end of it. I felt like I was losing a grasp on Truth. Listening to constantly conflicting voices of man back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

And the addiction. I hate addiction. I am waging war at anything that controls me (or those I love). And as much as I didn't want to admit it...I was addicted to facebook. I am not sure it was an addiction so much to other peoples lives as it was an addiction to the information. I have learned a lot from what I have read from articles posted. I think I was afraid I would miss something big if I wasn't on there. And I may. But the question here is this: is all of this "knowledge" and "information" hurting or helping us? Back in the day....people did what worked for them. They didn't live under the constant anxiety of doing it wrong or the constant threat of doom (come on...how many blogs do you follow of parents whose kids became chronically ill bc of some obscure disease?). The truth is that we have become slaves to information rather than information serving us. Why is anxiety so high right now among 30 somethings? BLOGS. Facebook posts of so and so's child getting abducted, sick,  or even a random tree limb falling and causing a traumatic brain injury in a child. The thing is, these people have a voice...a platform. I think when we read these people's story we see that they are living in our worst nightmare...and a part of us wants to follow along to know how the story ends. And when it ends tragically, we weep, we question...and we shoulder the anxiety in one way or another to our list of concerns about what if something happens. But along the way we learn that there can be grace unimagined...that people can survive the unimaginable. So we keep coming back for more? Thirty years ago these same things happened. We just never heard of it. Because we didn't have internet. I am not advocating that we shouldn't read these people's stories or support them. I know when Everett had his health issue when he was a baby, your support was invaluable to me. I don't know what the cure is. I just know that I needed to stop the noise.

But I am not an extremist. I took a solid week off. Now I am on facebook here and there. Still unsure of where to land exactly. Long distant family members love to see pictures of the kids...I do enjoy and learn from many things I read on there...I like to stay in "contact" with people. But the noise. How can we speak so much of love, and yet get so angry at someone who dares disagree with us? Where is the love? Hurt begets hurt. When people respond in unkind ways, I can usually see it for what it is. They are hurting or have been hurt.

The irony: I am writing this BLOG and posting it to FACEBOOK. Because there is power in social media. Power to form community and build relationships...find comraderie and encouragement. Find solutions to every day problems. I think you can probably sense my inability to decide where to land on this issue. For as much as I wish we could all go back to the way it used to be...I see the benefits of what we have now with this free exchange of ideas. Which brings me full circle. Power. With responsibility comes power. How are we using that power today?

The Thaw

I went running tonight for the first time in a long time. This winter was nothing but cold, frigid actually. Michigan hit a record with 108 inches of snow and consistent single digit temperatures. So running has been out of the question. But today we hit 35 degrees, and it just seemed to be the right time for many reasons. So I strapped my shoes on, threw Noah's U of M beanie on my head, turned on my Pandora station, and set out.

I remember when I first started to run almost a year and a half ago now. I could barely make it twice around the subdivision. I would eagerly give up after I hit that second loop because I was tired and ready to be done. But now I hit that second loop and have no problem pushing right through the breathlessness. I really don't think I am in any better shape. I have had a pregnancy and two months of no exercise. The difference is that my view of pain has changed. When I was pregnant with Si, I wanted so badly to go out and move. To run, to feel the wind, to have that outlet. But I couldn't. I could barely make it through a day. I think two years ago when I started using exercise as an outlet, I knew in my spirit that I was about to enter a defining time of my life. I didn't know then all that would come down, but I sensed it. Having lived the past two years, I have learned to lean into the pain, knowing it will make me stronger. I no longer run from it. I have learned to lean in.

Tonight as I ran, the snow was melting all around me. Water was running down the street in cascading rivers reaching for the drainpipes. It was as though I could visibly see the snow hills shrinking. I couldn't help but feel it in my soul too. Just as I felt it two years ago, but in a different way. Tonight I felt the thaw. So much has happened and I have gone to such lengths to protect my heart that it has been safe, but frozen. Which means all but dead...dormant. Tonight as the streams of melting snow ran down the road under my feet, it was as though it was running out of me too. That maybe, just maybe this is the beginning of something new. That spring could be on the horizon. That new life is about to spring up, and the parts of me that have laid dormant will awaken in the warmth of the spring.

I didn't want to thaw. I resisted it. I knew I was choosing to remain safe and to keep my illusion of control. And I didn't care. I loosened my grip on hope and faith and love. I all but let it go. But Love held me. And the warmth of Spring is gently beckoning me. And my heart, while still buried under a mountain of snow, can feel the sun seeping through, and instead of refreezing in an attempt to be safe, I think I am going to give into the thaw. I had convinced myself that to thaw was weak...to trust, to believe, to hope, to dream...it all felt weak. But I am learning that to open up...to take risks...to even begin to hope is the strongest action I can take...because it takes a thousand times more courage than does staying holed up in my protected safe zone. I hope to go forth smarter, wiser...but with the same heart that God created me with. There may be cracks and scars...but its still mine. I am still me. I don't want to be held back by the bondage of shame and fear and hurt that has held me captive. I want to go forth in freedom. And to do that...I must give in to the slow thaw. I must begin to dream again...to hope...to love. And that starts by simply opening up my hands, and lifting my face to the Son...basking in His warmth, knowing that in it and through it all, He held me. And He holds it all.