Merry Christmas, Big Sister!

After my father died, I was a mess and so was my family.  By this time in my life, I had lived in abuse for most of it, and become accustomed to being awoken in the dead of night by my mother, because we were leaving my father again.  When he killed himself, the running stopped, but the fear and anxiety did not.

I was 8 years old suffering from migraines, a nervous stomach and also seemed to get other medical ailments very easily during this time.  I didn't have friends that I can remember.  I wanted to be someone else.  Anyone else, but me.

I got signed up for the Big Brothers Big Sisters program.  To say this was life changing would be an understatement.  For the first time in my life, I saw what could be.  I looked forward so much to my time with my Big Sister and her family every week.  I was loved and accepted. 

She taught me things I never knew like how to hold and knife and fork when eating.  She also taught me what family time in a loving home looked like.  We played board games, played with the dog and listened to music. We did normal things families do that meant so much to me but were commonplace to so many of my peers.  I had never known that much calm in my life. 

Once I thought about visiting her many years later, but I decided I prefer to remember her the way she was and will always live in my mind and heart.  She gave me the book, The Velveteen Rabbit before we parted ways.  How perfect for a little girl that believed the lie that she was used up and no one loved her.  As an adult, I've become free just like the Velveteen Rabbit who was once overlooked and destined for destruction.

I remember my Big this time of year, because her love lives on. The joy of Christmas was something I began to learn from her. Simple, beautiful and humble love. Just remember, you never know how important you may be to someone.

My Kid is not Good & Neither is Yours

The day a child is born is magical.  There truly is nothing like those first few moments when you see, hear and hold your child for the first time. The word "perfect" is often used to describe the new blessing.

While children certainly are gifts of God, beautiful creations and demonstrations of his handiwork, they are far from perfect.  I do believe we are doing our children a disservice by telling them from birth how perfect and good they are.  We tell them they are strong and they can do anything.  While this all sounds amazingly uplifting, it's actually a recipe for disaster.

The reality is that our children are born sinful, flawed human beings in need of a Savior.  They are not perfect.  They are not good.  They are not enough. 

While attending a Mom's Group for mothers with young children a few years ago, the theme You are Enough was constantly reiterated.  The goal was for moms to feel as though their efforts to take care of their families was enough.  They didn't need to be like someone else. 

I knew that didn't quite sit well with me, but I wasn't sure why.  As I discussed it with my husband, I realized why it made me so uncomfortable. 

The thing is...we will never be enough.  No matter our efforts, they will never be enough for other people.  We aren't enough for ourselves.  We NEED God the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.  He is the only Enough.  Once we realize and accept this, joy can truly take place.

The indoctrination of so called self esteem via positivity is a false reality.  Underneath the seeming confidence derived from self, there will inevitably be confusion and lack of purpose.  Confidence is meant to be derived from Jesus Christ, no one else and no other accomplishment.  He is the rock, the sure foundation that cannot be moved.  If we place our trust and hope in ourselves, others or anything of this world, it will crumble and fall.  We will fall with it.  We will end up living a pseudo life instead of what God intended.

Once we realize there is no good in us apart from the God who made us, that weight that many of the moms I sat with is lifted.  Our kids can have freedom to be themselves without the pressure to be that perfect baby everyone said they were.  Instead of only living according to the law, we live as though Christ has come back and fulfulled the law.
 
Grace is given, but often forfeited.  

Do You Hear What I Hear

How can a "leader" in church not want to talk about Biblical application in a social setting?  I was recently taken aback when I brought up what I was learning in my own personal Bible study with a pastor.  Instead of joining in the conversation, he was quiet and seemed disinterested.  The conversation quickly went back to light frivolity.  I wrongly thought that a person who is surrounded by religiosity would want to discuss the deep stuff in the Bible.

After that awkward encounter, I realized something that I had taken for granted.  Many of those that are front and center in churches enjoy talking to everyone else about the Bible on their own terms, but that doesn't mean they want to be taught in humility.  It means that they have yet to taste the joy of growing and connecting in community with other believers.  A "personal" relationship with God has come to mean a secret, lonely relationship.  No wonder people sitting in pews every week are disillusioned, afraid, alone and in pain thinking they are "supposed" to come to church to be a better person.  How is this Biblical?  Jesus was surrounded by believers.  He would go off to pray on his own, and also find fellowship with believers through prayer, communion and discussion.  There was deep emotional connection formed by his Word that he desires for believers today as well.

I was hurt, frankly.  This person that I thought would be excited about what I was discussing from an obscure Old Testament passage almost seemed embarrassed. The encounter solidified the truths God has laid in my heart the past few years.

I want to hear God's Word read, preached and discussed freely with hope and expectation as I find my place and my peace in discussion and communion with other saints.  The Word is sacred and holy bringing life blood to all of us, yet it is often merely used as a pawn or a tool to further someone's career path.  This sickens me and saddens me at the simultaneously.  May we reverently and humbly receive Him acknowledging the sacredness of the breath that breathed the words we often fail to grasp.
These words are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ the Son of God! John 20:31

I am a Statistic

I used to detract from the notion that I am a statistic.  I fought hard to not be included in the statistic of those who grew up like me.  I didn't want to be included with those who eventually became abusers, addicts, who created their own broken homes, or had done jail time.

I made myself learn.  I educated myself.  I went to therapy.  I became the one to help those who grew up like me as a professional in the mental health field all the while denying the part of me that looked just like my clients.  If I could distance myself, maybe I could recreate who I am.

This "new me" caused problems, though.  The issue was that the "old me" was still there.  What I had to do was find a way to reconcile what was and what I was becoming, but how do you do that?  It's like mixing oil and water. 

That's when I realized, that the new version could not be something I created.  Only God could reconcile what was and what is.  Only he could take what I was learning, how I was growing and the newness of me and meld it with the painful past I carried.  I would not live in the pain without the blessed hope of relief found in him. 

I realized that the past does not need to dominate me, nor does the present need to suppress the lessons I still learn from that heartache. I continue to learn and grow and emerge from what was meant to beat me down.  I embrace what was meant for evil as it is the compost for the beauty that I see now in my life.

I am a new statistic.  I am included with those who not only survive, not only make something new of their lives, but who sit back and watch the glory of God unfold before them as he creates beauty from ashes.

I do like it here.  There is no need for denial.  There is no need for self loathing or wallowing.  It is a place of peace after the storm.  It's where the sweetness of a thorn filled rose fills the air. 

Yes, I like it here.

INFP Emotions

Sometimes I feel like crying, and I have no idea why.  After lots of reflection, I can often backtrack and pinpoint the reason or reasons why.  Sometimes it is vaguely clear.  Other times, it's not.

It feels like you're standing in the ocean.  It's calm.  You're about waist deep.  Then suddenly a huge wave smacks you under water out of nowhere.  You didn't hear it coming.  You didn't see it.  You're just trying to get yourself back up.

I think a lot of this has to do with my personality type along with trauma I've experienced.  The way I think and feel and cope is all related to the way I see life.

I see life through a kaleidoscope lens.  It's magical and beautiful, but sometimes really overwhelming to stare at for long periods of time.  I have to make a conscious effort to change my viewpoint every now and then or I become dizzy and lightheaded.

I do believe that the intensity at which I feel things is a gift.  It's the salt of my life.  The issue comes in when there's too much salt, and I'm choking.

I do pray for balance so that what is good and majestic within my personhood does not drown me, overwhelm me and those around me.  I embrace the depth to which I feel and the carnival lens I look through.  I also know the danger of it, and pray that the Holy Spirit will temper it and subdue it when necessary.

I can find disappointment to be devastating to a point of despair.  This plays into my joy of hoping and dreaming of great things for myself and others.  Yet, slowly but surely, God is teaching me the joy of being disappointed.  Without disappointments, I would not be able to trust so fully in the surety that he never disappoints.  Through my roller coaster of emotions, he is firm and steady leading me to rest.

I love that I feel the depths of human emotion in such a vivid way.  I also love that God made me this way and loves me just the way that I am.  

Out of Death Comes Newness of Life

I really don't like waking up and realizing it's my birthday.  That may sound crazy, but I would be over the moon happy if I could just skip that day (which is today) altogether.  I get anxious just thinking about it coming up.

I don't get upset that I'm getting older, that I have more gray hair, or more aches and tiredness.  It's not about the actual process of being older that gets my panties in a wad.  It's the emotional pain associated with the day.  It's past events that make it a day where I feel all of those feelings again.  The rejection, loneliness, sadness and confusion all come rushing in like a tidal wave. 

When I grew up, my birthday was seldom about me.  I had put a lot of hope in this day as a child, because in my mind, on this day, I was supposed to be seen and treated nicely. For one day a year, I was supposed to be made to feel special.  Yet, I was met with disappointment as those around me did not know how to be consistent or selfless when the day rolled around.  I felt like an afterthought.  All of the built up hope was crushed year after year.  I longed to be acknowledged and appreciated.

Today is also Good Friday.  What a sad day as we remember Christ's suffering and death, yet joyous all the same as he birthed life that day.
It's also the day 9 years ago when I had our first miscarriage in the bathroom of our apartment.  Devastating.  Shocking.  I was numb with pain.  Yet, I also feel that the little life we saw is up in heaven now.

So, it would be very easy to wallow in all of this sadness and past hurt today.

I woke up with my son very early today.  I woke up to cuddles. Then, I went outside for a run.  As I was walking down the street, I heard banging.  I looked back at the upstairs window of the house to see my 2 daughters smiling and waving at me.  That moment.  Right there.  I thought, "This is good". 

My life is full of people that love me.  They remember me and try to do nice things for me on the day God created me.  I have always downplayed myself.  Yet, I would never do that to one of my children.  It's a defense mechanism so that I don't get hurt again.  I'm glad there are people in my life that want to celebrate the life God created in me.  I'm glad that those little girls have a mom they want to say goodbye to, smile down at, wave and blow kisses to.

As I ran my last mile today, I looked up at the sky so thankful.  The wind blew new growth from the Spring trees in my face, and I thought about how this newness of life is like the life of Christ.  He endured darkness to reveal new life that is incomprehensible.  Love is not love without sacrifice.  Love is not love without the basest humility. 

Jesus Christ is love. 

Happy Good Friday.

Remembering You, Wherever You Are

I don't know why I don't just expect to be hit hard every year.  I still get somewhat shocked at the emotional toll this time of year has on me.  After 29 years, I still feel like someone gut punched me as memories, feelings and flashbacks flood my mind.

I've come to forgive, to feel sympathy, empathy and sadness for my dad.  I think of how he died.  Alone and afraid.

He downed 10 times the amount of medication needed to kill him, and his heart stopped.  Back then, I often wondered if he had a heart.

What I remember about this time of year is my aunt coming to our house to tell my mom, standing in the front yard under a big tree.  I remember seeing my father in a suit, lying in a casket hard as a rock.  I remember feeling so confused, angry and frustrated by him and at him and at the situation.  I remember my mother placing her wedding ring in his suit coat pocket.  I remember standing under another big tree by a hole in the ground.  The pastor spoke, and the thud of the casket being lowered sounded like crashing thunder.  I remember being angry that I had to miss school for this.  School was my safe place.  All of this felt like the earth had opened up, and I was spiraling downward out of control.  It felt as though I had been buried with him.

I also remember afterwards.  No one told me how sorry they were that my dad died.  No one talked to me about it.  No one talked about him.  He had killed himself.  He was menatlly ill.  He was an addict.  He was abusive.  He was a thief.  He was a spurn upon society that everyone seemed to want to forget and bury.  If we didn't talk about it, it wouldn't be so bad, right?

Wrong.

I was his daughter, so what did that make me?

I was left with crazy emotions that literally began to eat me up from the inside out.  I started to have migraines both abdominal and as headaches.  I remember needing absolute silence and darkness as a 9 year old.  I could hear any voice within the house, and it felt like knives were stabbing my head.  I bit my fingernails in class so much that the blue carpet beneath my desk was covered in off white crescent shavings by the end of each day.  I got sick a lot more with all kinds of childhood illnesses.

There are times when I wish my life had been different.  Yet, I wouldn't know and seek Christ's love as I do to fill the void, to soothe the pain and give me strength.  I wouldn't be adamant about loving people where they are, as they are and being open and honest with my children.

We say we are protecting our children by not talking about painful circumstances, when many times we are avoiding the situation out of fear.   That leaves them with feelings that have not been voiced and a message that it is not okay to have intense feelings.  Stuff them and put on a smile.
 No.  Name the feelings, and process ways to deal with them in a healthy manner as a family.

God has shown me since then, his redemptive grace and love.  Nothing is in vain.  He has shown me that trees and death are not to be feared, but embraced as he loved me so much he willingly paid for the sins of me and my father.  Christ was not buried under a tree.  He rose above it.

So, to my father, who I may never get to know, I love you.  I forgive you.  I miss you.

Always, your little girl.

Parenting a Gifted Child

Having gifted children is amazing and exhausting.  They are active and not necessarily just physically active.  We have one that cannot stop her brain from needing input, creating, making and asking.  We have one that is curious and physically everywhere.  We have one that wants to be with you wherever you are, creates her own language and new words.  She was using 3-5 word sentences by 18 months old. Put them all together, and there is not a moment of rest!
It is HARD raising little people whose brains and bodies DON'T STOP!

I remember our oldest daughter stopped taking naps completely at 2 1/2.  She wouldn't stay in her room for rest time without literally getting everything out for her intricate, imaginary play taking half an hour to pick everything back up.  I would tell other parents about the barrage of questions and non stop need for stimulation, but there weren't many that had the same issue.  Their kids would nap until 3 or 4 years old and not continually ask to do another activity.  I envied them!

Her thirst for knowledge is amazing and unquenchable.  She's easily at a mid year first grade reading level at 5 years old.  Now with 3 kids, I find myself at my wits end by lunchtime since the baby is a walking tornado.  My middle is a sweet, silly girl that often picks up on the stress.  She likes to stay under me like a chick under a mother hen.  When I've just had enough, she realizes it after calling my name for the 67th time that day and will just say, "Mommy, I love you."  My sweet girl knows I've had my limit of being asked to do something, get a baby off the table or answer questions.

I try to think of the alternative-children that aren't able to express themselves or communicate or children without mobility to explore their worlds or pester siblings.  I thank God for my children as they are.  I pray for the grace, guidance, patience, faith and LOVE to parent these extremely active children that have such a desire to learn and know more.  God, help me!