New Year

Now that the glitter has rubbed off of the new year we see the grey plastic mold underneath showing where it's been worn most. The sparkles of what we promised ourselves and others are all over the floor and crushed into the carpet. A reminder of where we fell short every time we catch the shine when the sun hits just right.

We were meant to be a new person by now. A better person than we were 20 days ago.

Eating better.

Organizing better.

Cleaning better.

Teaching better.

Mothering better.

Wife-ing better.

Praying better.

Learning better.

Following better.

Stewarding better.

Discipling better.

Loving better.

But here we are. The same person we've been all along. Because re-wiring a human takes a lot of work.... and that's OK.

So we adopt words, phrases, verses to get us through. To help keep us on track. I've come across many that my friends have shared and I love learning a little more about them as they put ownership on what they need most this year. 

When I truly look at all that needs to change in my little bubble, all I need to improve on, it's an enormous task. And here, my friends, here is where I found my resolution. My phrase. My ownership.

That's right, eating elephants.

The funny part about all this is that the word "elephants" is my default noun. Anytime I need to buy myself a few minutes with my child I throw out "elephants".

"Mommy, what are we having for dinner?"
Elephant burritos.

"Where are we going?"
To see the elephants.

"Can we go swim today?"
No, too many elephants in the pool.

"Are we there yet?"
There's elephants in the road slowing down traffic.

(It doesn't work as well now that she's older. Instead of a moment of confused silence I get "Moo-oooooo-ooooom!")

Elephants.

I know I've heard this phrase before and shrugged it off as a bad joke. But when you sit on it. Think of the reality of it there's so much truth there. When an insurmountable task is ahead of you it can feel like an elephant. And if you really needed to eat one the only way to get it done? One bite at a time.

When it comes to :

Eating better.

Organizing better.

Cleaning better.

Teaching better.

Mothering better.

Wife-ing better.

Praying better.

Learning better.

Following better.

Stewarding better.

Discipling better.

Loving better.

I can only do it....one bite at a time. 

Paved with good intentions.

I love Christmas.

I'm the dork blaring the Christmas Music at the stoplight on November 2nd.

I'm the one that walks around Hobby Lobby in October wistfully dreaming of snow as I walk up and down the aisles of ribbon and greenery.

I'm the one in Toys-R-Us filling the shopping cart in September (OK, August) for my Christmas Present layaway.

I love it.

I love the tree, the nativity, the garlands, the stockings, the cookies, the advent calenders, the tree lightings, the cards, the parades, the centerpieces, the wreaths, the lights, the snow, the ornaments, the specials, the parties, the food, the wrapping, the Nutcracker Ballet...

But I'm sorry. I have to stop.

I'm tapping out.

I want to do the Random Acts of Kindness calendar, Shepard's Pouches, and yes... even though it's kinda-sorta creepy and we don't do Santa..... I do want to do Elf on the Shelf, but I'd end up doing Wandering Wisemen.

But I can't.

Because it's going to. kill. me.

Well, maybe not kill me. No, I'll most likely live to see the new year in... But it's going to kill my soul. The joy that comes with this special time of year.

You know, that joy our children have when they see a 40 foot Christmas tree light up for the first time that season. Or when they find the perfect tree at the tree farm and pull it out of the forest all on their own. Or when they decorate sugar cookies and "sneak" a few M&Ms between each plop of icing.

They're happy little balls of joy.

And why? Is it the daily advent calendar with it's family activity and/or goodie? Is it the checking off of to-do lists? Is it the shopping on top of the shopping you've already done for things nobody needs?

Nope. It's because they DON'T do any of that stuff. They just coast along enjoying whatever comes their way. Dreaming of goodies and toys and fun.

Now, are any of of these Pinterest-y/ Facebook-y activities bad? ABSOLUTELY NOT!!!

If you want to do it, go nutty! Be a Super-Pinterest-Woman. Make that garland! Do your advent calendar! Bake 4 dozen of 12 different cookies!  Do a whole darn gingerbread village! Host a both a family AND friend party... on the same weekend! I've had years like that!

This year, not so much apparently.

This year I've felt the call to slow down. To be present with both my husband and child. To meet their needs (not what I feel they should have, based on glossy magazine covers designed by a team of stylists) when all they really need is me. Sane, relaxed, and providing a peaceful place to be.... and homemade hot chocolate with marshmallows.

I'm not saying we're having PB&J's for Christmas dinner. I'm saying it's gonna be a pre-prepped, shove in the oven, two crockpots running kind of Christmas. It's gonna be a popsicle stick ornament kind of Christmas. It's gonna be use what we already have for decorations kind of Christmas. It's gonna be going under budget kind of Christmas. It's gonna be less doing and more being. And that's OK.

Although my intentions of what Christmas should be is a bit more polished and perfect... It's not what it will be. It's messy and imperfect... and mine. And exactly the way God wanted it to be.

My intentions my be good, but getting to that perfect Southern Living look sure can be hell. On everyone.

credit: Ann VosKamp

aholyexperience.com

Enough.

The timing is right for this post*. I've written so many things but without this story, without this base... none of it makes sense. So I delete them and write on crash pads and body wash. I'm going out on a limb here. Gonna put some real stuff out here. Not looking for pity or sympathy or anything.... just giving out some real. -deep breaths-

This is the (lightly edited) testimony I shared with my MOPS group at the very beginning of the year. The one that started all this.... stuff. The real reason I wanted to start this. I mean, yay on the crash pads and body wash... but I'm nothing if not real. And real needs some brave to get it going. -deep breaths-




Hi, I’m Jessica. If we haven’t had a chance to really chat there are three things you need to know about who I am:

1- I have no filters. No, I HAD filters but I think they broke or need to be changed or something and I just don’t have time for that stuff right now… so I have no filters. Someone recently asked me if I listened to the words that come out of my mouth and I responded “NO. Then I’d be really upset with myself most of the time!” So forgive me. No filters.

2- You must understand that I don’t judge anyone’s mothering. No, Really. I have no time to judge you. I’m too busy judging myself.  Every day. Every moment.

3- In the end I truly believe that every mother who is at least trying to be a mother, is doing the very best THEY can do for THEIR child.  Because HE gave us our children knowing who WE are to our core.

I say all this so that you know nothing that follows comes from a place of judgment (not even for my own parents) but from a place that God has brought me to.

So back to my story....I was a happy surprise: the first child to a couple living in the mountains of Virginia.

Like most couples my parents wanted more than just one child. They wanted a real family. My parents made no secret of it and although I knew they loved me my little child mind took their endless “trying to conceive”, fertility treatments and in vitro fertilization appointments as “Jessica, you are not enough.”

It continued. The words that came from my parent’s actions were:

I wasn’t pretty enough.

I wasn’t skinny enough.

I wasn’t quiet enough.

I wasn’t creative enough.

I wasn’t athletic enough.

I wasn’t a good enough student.

I wasn’t a good enough friend.

I wasn’t a good enough daughter.

Not enough.

After 10 years of  failed attempts and a couple of lost babies my parents finally had my brother in 1991……in the midst of my father’s infidelity.

And when my father finally decided to leave my Mom for another woman during Christmas of 1992 and I tearfully asked him to stay...If only for me...

His leaving said more than any words he could ever say: I wasn’t enough.

My parents divorced and My mother moved 11 year old me and my 1 year old brother up to Upstate New York to be closer to her family. A strange land of snow, cold and salt. I had never seen more than 3 inches of snow at one time and we had arrived the summer before the famed “Winter of ‘93”. It was a new world to say the least.

Even though we had a new life the record was the same:

I wasn’t enough.

And I believed it, whole heartedly.

Even after I accepted Christ and found my future husband (all in one summer. Woot-woot!) I still believed the track my parents gave me. Their actions continued to prove that I wasn’t enough.

I went on with life; graduated High School, got married. Got a job or two. Bought a house. And enjoyed life with just me and my husband  for 7 whole years.

Then five years ago I had a child. My beautiful little girl. I tell her every day she is my gift from God because she is.

I prayed for a beautiful, smart, outgoing, fearless (believing it would be easier to reign in fearless-ness than teach confidence. HA!), compassionate, helpful, Jesus-loving little girl. I wanted her to be adventurous and receive whatever God had planned for her with open arms and a joyful heart. To have my eye color and lashes and Cor’s height and smile. And He gave it to me. All of it.
       

And in the weeks that followed I found I was finally enough.

I was post-baby glowing; I was pretty enough.

I snapped back to pre-pregnancy weight -10 pounds; I was skinny enough.

I could help my itty bitty one off to sleep with just a boob and a rocking chair; I was quiet enough.

I went from a 40 hour a week job to staying home with an infant who slept all. The. Time. I finally had time to craft to my heart’s content; I was creative enough.

And Athletic? Well, you can’t have it all..

I was a good enough Wife

I was a good enough Mother.

Finally I was enough. Motherhood made me enough.

So why just one? Why wouldn’t I do it all again?

In October of 2012 I lost a 6(ish) week pregnancy. It was hard, I cried but I was really OK. I named him October. I loved him (or her) and the little man (or lady) he (or she) would have been. I mourned for the thought of the child more than the child itself and found it easier to deal with at the time.

The second time we were so close to being “safe”. She was so much like her sister I knew she was a girl. It was love at first morning sickness all over again. I had named this one Sparrow. Her name came from my favorite hymn.

“I don’t know about tomorrow
it may bring me poverty
but the one who feeds the sparrow
is the one who stands by me”

I knew THIS time Jesus was standing by me. THIS time would be it.  That He knew I was enough to be a Mommy again. But nearly 12 weeks in I had lost her; 3 days before my 31st birthday.

And there I was, alone in the exam room, sobbing as I was losing my sweet fragile little Sparrow. Not enough all over again.

Not even for God… not enough to give me another child. Just one more little one, I wasn’t being greedy.

But the song continues:

“And the path that be my portion
May be through the flame or flood
But his presence goes before me
And I’m covered with His blood.

Many things about tomorrow
I don't seem to understand
But I know who holds tomorrow
And I know who holds my hand”

I am enough for Him. Enough for Him to go through all the rage and resentment and anger and sorrow and hate and everything I felt towards Him and every single pregnant woman around me popping out babies like gumball machines.

He was with me as I wept, as I slept away my afternoons because it was easier than functioning as an adult.

As I parked in the “expectant mother” parking spot at Wegman’s because passive aggression is a great release sometimes.

As I tried to live a Christian life while ignoring Him as being a part of it.

But even more precious than  Him waiting though all of that is that he waited for me to get to the other side.

To where I know my mothering isn’t based on how full my quiver is. That I’m just as good of a mother with one little girl as Michelle Dugger is with her 18? 19? 31? Kids.

To knowing I am not less blessed with my one child than those with more babies than bedrooms.

To the point where I know I’m enough for Him, and that’s all that matters.

And slowly I’m getting to the point where He is enough for me. Some days are better than others. And some days I’m thankful for unanswered prayers (Did I mention that my child was fearless?). But I’m getting there. To enough.



A few weeks ago my sweet daughter and I were sitting on the couch chatting.

“Mommy, you have one little girl.”

Yep, one sweet little girl.

“Some Mommies have girls and some Mommies have boys.”

That’s the way God planned it out.

“Some Mommies have lotsa little boys and girls.”

Yep.

“But you have just one Me.”

Yep.

“Is that enough?”

And here was my moment of truth.

Here was God looking at me through her little child eyes and saying: “Here’s what you prayed for. Every little detail in one little package that I made for you, just for you, before YOU were even born. Is it enough?”

My sweet human. You are enough for me. Every day. Every minute. Every second. You are more than enough and a little extra on the side.

*I had originally planned to post this on October 15th: National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day....but things didn't work out as I had planned. As they rarely do. Since 1988 the whole month has been dedicated to remembering our nation's lost children. I felt it was only right to stop in the middle of my daily madness and remember our two lost children, even if it wasn't on the 15th.

I know we are not alone in this. That we live life with many hurting Mommies and Daddies. It doesn't make it easier... It doesn't make it better... But maybe we can all heal a little stronger with each other's support. Or at least know we're not alone. Nothing is worse than suffering loss all on your own. Don't. Reach out. Find someone. Share your story.

And most importantly, if you're a Momma of a lost child and hear nothing else in what I've said hear this: It's. Not. Your. Fault. You ARE enough. 

Fakin' it.

So I feel like a fraud. This blog thing makes me feel like a fraud.

I've taken a break from the blogging because of it. I am no great speaker or writer or conduit from God. I don't have daily epiphanies that bring me closer to Him. I will freely admit that some days I read the Bible on autopilot. I have no great wisdom, I can't share what "works for me" because I haven't found what works for me yet.

I'm a plain ol' mom, who is just struggling to survive the days. Some days that takes less effort than others.

 Some days I can bring myself to spend the entire day in crafty/outsidey/happy/smiley/adventures mode and others I just pray the iPad battery lasts until naptime.

Some days I have great patience and others I send the wild beast outside where she belongs.

Some days I accomplish everything on the to-do list and other days are considered a success if I even make a list.

Some days we have green smoothies for lunch and others I roll through a Wendy's.

Some days I rock and others I just plain suck.

Some days there just is no Joy in the day.

So there it is. The truth.

I see the pins on Pinterest. The pretty little signs to hang on our walls. To remind us.

And some days I can't. There's no joy to be found.  Just survival. Then guilt from not finding joy.

Why should I be joyless? I'm blessed beyond measure: our little house and our little family. But these reminders of what I should feel make me feel guilty, once again less than, because I don't feel joy.

Behind these signs and the blogs I follow I see women, mamas, who seem to have it together. That plaster a perfectly veneered smile on their faces and sing-song-ily say "Choose Joy."

I fake it 'till I make it..... but what if I never make it?


Then this.

And I felt joy. This spoke to me more than the pretty pastel, chevron, chalkboard signs guilting me into joy. This statement makes me want to move mountains. 

Not because it takes the power from God. Not that it puts the power in my hands.... but it allows me to be me; a little ball of fury taking down whatever is in my way. With Him by my side. Coaching me through the day. Not just making a choice but actually DOING something.

Child trying to corner me into a corn syrup filled breakfast? Bob and Weave.

Blowing though both Language Arts and Math lessons in less than 45 minutes WITH comprehension? One-Two-Punch

Facebook friend backdoor bragging about their child's ahead-a-grade-level-reading in their beautiful home remodel on the heels of their warm-weather vacation? Blocking

Attacking the laundry pile? Jab

Toys sorted? Uppercut

Cooking a meal that everyone will eat without any complaints at the dinner table? Footwork

Ending the day with the house a little cleaner, child a little smarter, husband a little more comforted? Punchout

At the end of the day I may be tired out. I may be bruised and battered and swollen. But I hit back. Yes, I do choose joy. Forget "'till I make it".... I'll be faking it 'till I die. But I am gonna punch today in the face. Everyday.... and that makes me a little happy. Even joyful.

To be heard.

Things don't roll off my daughter's back so well. When a hurt is tossed her way she grabs in with velcro gloves and holds it close to her chest, curling up into a fetal position, wrapped around the small ball of ugly... letting it weigh her down and refusing to let it go.

This past week in church the topic was Emotional Health and my husband and I gave each other a knowing look when Pastor said "Some of us have small emotions and some of us have big emotions" (paraphrased). Our daughter has big emotions....BIG emotions.

If that's her SPD or her personality, I don't know. All I know is that she needs to get a light coat of teflon if she's gonna get through this world in one piece. So we work on it. So very hard. We have social stories, role playing, games, you tube videos... you name it, we do it. (We got our own mini PT/OT office in our living room... dining room... school room....Ok let's be honest. HOUSE!)

Yesterday was gonna be a big one. Out the door at 8:30, home at 5 kinda day. No nap. Lots of activity. I was ready for it. I wanted to make sure she was. As we drove we had one of our many "Mommy Talks".

Me: "OK, babe. Now if you're having a rough time with someone what do you do?"

Her: "Talk to them first and then go get an adult to help if it doesn't work."

Me: "Good! Now what do you say?"

Her: " 'That's OK. I don't care.' and then walk away."

The floor fell out from under me. "It's OK."?! Why was it OK? It's OK for one's feelings to be hurt? It's OK for someone to say or do something mean to you personally and just walk away? This wasn't new advice. This was the advice I was given as a child. "Just walk away." but how many hurts from my own childhood am I still carrying with me today? Too many to count. No. For some reason I knew this was another one of those moments that would make or break the woman my little one was meant to be.

Me "NO. That's NOT what you say."

Her: -stunned silence-

Me: "No. Your feelings are important and matter. You should be able to share with someone when they hurt your feelings in a kind way: '_______, I want to be friends with you but when you do that it hurts my feelings. Can you please stop?' Let's practice it."

And we did. Once we were done and the script was in her brain she popped her thumb in her mouth and started tearing up.

Me: "Baby, what's wrong?"

Her: "You listened to me. You heard me."

Then I started tearing up. She just needed someone to hear her. To tell her her feelings matter. To help her express her feelings in a calm, safe way. That she was important. That her feelings were valid and deserved to be heard and accounted for.

We're still working on it but now we have a better starting point.

________________

The last few weeks I've been dealing with horrid migraines. They usually hit right before dinner time and have me going to bed as soon as the plates are cleared up leaving my husband and daughter to fend for themselves all evening long. I try everything. I drink tons of water throughout the day, make sure I wear my glasses all. the. time, getting massages from my husband (the kind that don't go anywhere), I've been eating better, organizing my life a little better, setting more boundaries so I don't get overwhelmed and making sure I get bible time in every day.

Nothing was working.

So last night, after my busy day, when I got hit with a doozy of a migraine I just laid in the dark of my bedroom and prayed. "God, please take this away. Take away the strobing pain, the nausea, the everything."

He said, "Why are you getting migraines all of a sudden?"

"I doesn't matter, just make them go away."

And in all His infinite fatherly wisdom He spoke "It DOES matter."

It was clear as day now. My migraines have been appearing every 2-3 days since I received an email One laced with guilt and accusations and passive aggression. I had grabbed onto a ball of pain, curled up around it and held it close to my chest, curling up into a fetal position, wrapped around the small ball of ugly... letting it weigh me down and refusing to let it go.

I was saying "That's OK. I don't care." and trying to walk away.

As only He can, He spoke gently to me using my own words that I spoke to my daughter only hours earlier "No. Your feelings are important and matter. You should be able to share with someone when they hurt your feelings in a kind way: '_______, I want to be friends with you but when you do that it hurts my feelings. Can you please stop?' Let's practice it."

And I wept. Because I needed someone to listen to me. To hear me. He did. The one who holds every atom on Earth together stopped everything to not only listen to me... but hear me.


__________

I sat down this morning to deal with the email. I wrote something kind but making sure my feelings were clear and would not be lost in translation. I'm hoping for a migraine free-day, we shall see... but at least I know I was heard. Maybe not by the recipient of the email but at least by the God of the universe.

Along with this sweet little five year old, 30-something me is learning my feelings matter. They are important and valid and deserved to be heard and accounted for.






And because I am the Queen of Quantifying (according to my husband):

-I am completely aware of when my child does a wrong. She is not some tragic victim in the world. She can be just as snarky and mean as the next kid. I know.

-I am not a PT or an OT... There are years of training and practice going into those fields of which I have none. Please don't think I claim to be one. I -heart- PTs and OTs!

-Some migraines need medical attention. This is not medical advice. I am not a doctor.... I may go see one soon if this new development doesn't make mine stop.

Garage Sale-ing (or Teaching Your Child How Not to go in Debt)

The trees are budding, the tulips blooming and dandelions are plentiful.... Spring has sprung in our corner of the world! People are cleaning out their homes and it's Garage Sale season!

This morning I took my little girl to her first real neighborhood Garage Sale, not as a spectator but as a shopper! To make math real I doled out five one dollar bills. We talked about how each dollar was equal to four quarters OR 10 dimes OR 20 nickels. Honestly, I had no idea that $5 would buy so much! (Or that so many senior citizens would just give things to her for being so cute with her little purse. So much for the math lesson.)

She got one of every garage sale category; stuffed animal- check,  books- check, craft kits- check, outdoor toys- check, ziplock bag filled with odds and ends from a bigger, more elaborate play set- check...... she was having. a. ball!

Her last and most expensive purchase, for a whole dollar, was a Polly Pocket car that was obviously broken. Even though I pointed that out to her she insisted that she wanted it more than anything in the world and paid with her very last dollar. Within 5 minutes she looked at me and sobbed "It's not a great toy. It doesn't work at all." tears starting down her face.

I felt for her. I truly did. How many times have I bought something and was immediately hit with buyer's remorse. From little things like the fruity gum at the checkout that went waxy once the flavor ran out or a shirt on clearance that seemed OK but looks kinda meh now I have it at home... To big purchases like the SLR camera I bought under pressure when that electronics store went out of business at the mall that really isn't user friendly and now, two years later, I could have bought a Canon or Nikon for the same price... or my very first car that I bought on my very own: A '92 Chevy Lumina that was a BOAT but burst into flame less than 2 months into ownership. (After spending the same amount of money I paid for it to fix the alternator, starter and head gasket.)

But what did I want to teach her in this lesson in money and choices and frugality? I mean, I had a few dollar bills in my pocket. I could have just handed one over to her and it wouldn't have made a dent in my shopping plans. If I really wanted to I could have walked back to that house and told the seller that they sold a bum toy to a little girl and, I don't know, gotten her dollar back or exchanged it for another toy.( I mean, what kind of person sells a BROKEN toy at a garage sale?!?!? Ok, breathe in- breathe out. I'm OK. I'm OK...)  Either way the tears would stop and I could go on with the happy morning.

For some reason this seemed like a big lesson to her broken heart. (One I wish I had learned waaaaay before I bought that Lumina.)

I sat on some random person's front lawn with her little head on my shoulder and broken toy in her lap. She wailed for a bit and I just held her in her broken moment as people walked by and stared at the sweaty woman with the weeping child on her lap. The sweaty woman whose shirt exclaimed "Stay At Home ROCKSTAR".... I was not feeling like a Rockstar at the moment. I wanted to crawl up into a ball and die.

Once her breaths evened out I smoothed back the hairs plastered with sweat to her forehead. I explained that she made a bad purchase. How I gave her advice on what to do and she made her own choice and sometimes they come with their own consequences. That we need to not buy what our heart wants in the moment but to "stop, think and cho-o-oose". (Credit: Daniel Tiger)

"Momma, I should have listened to you."

"Yeah, I know you feel that way."

"I was foolish."

"It's OK. It happens. To everyone, even grownups."

"Mom, I'm never going to make a bad purchase again. I'm gonna stop, think and cho-o-oose next time."

Can I have that in writing?

We continued shopping, finding the motherlode of scholastic books. I went SHOPPING for our home library! At that same sale they had TONS of little girl toys, priced to sell. Little girl looked them over, played with a few and remarked to me as we left that house. "Momma, I ran out of money. I couldn't buy anything there, my heart wanted stuff but I knew I had no more money."

"Was it hard?"

"A little bit."

"I'm proud of you for making good choices."

.... and we literally skipped back to the car.







All this started as a Facebook Post but the story went on and on and on. I don't know what led me to share this slice of our day. But there it is. A moment of our real.

A moment of perspiration, tear, and snot soaked ugly turned into a learning moment for my little one. Reminded that if we can pray in the moment for the strength to stay cool we can turn it around. We can get back to that happy moment we had just left and all be a little better for it.

Wardrobe

I've been bummed out lately. No, I'm gonna be honest. I've been flat out depressed. And when I say flat out depressed I mean flat. out.

As in I was flat and I was out.

My depression was so bad I was stressed out over being depressed. To the point I made myself sick. My stress had caused my good bacteria to call it quits and the bad bacteria to take over everything. I finally broke down went to urgent care (being completely disconnected to my body, completely sure it was strep throat) and got a prescription because my kefir smoothies just weren't cutting it.

Which of course made me more stressed ("For goodness sakes I can't even keep a suitable environment for BACTERIA to thrive in what makes me think I can ___________________?!") which made me more depressed.

So here I was: tongue swollen so much I couldn't close my mouth properly, I couldn't eat anything thicker (or more distinctive) than applesauce and I was doing nothing. Absolutely nothing. For days.

Then He woke me up at 5 am. There was no Earthly reason I should have been awake that early that day. I tried going back to sleep but nothin doin' when He wants to talk to you.... And He needed to talk to me.

I'm sure you were aware of the books Beth Moore was giving away earlier this year. You know, 10-ish books that she was just handing out for free Kindle devices. Madness, I tell you. Facebook, the Mommy blogs, every Christian woman I know was all over that deal. Anyway, I was part of the madness. I got my books...

So I'm reading "Praying God's Word Day by Day"..... "reading" is more like it. Just being honest..... and I flip to that particular day: February 12th. This is what it says:

We Must Never Cease

Believing 

That God Cares About

Those In

Physical, Emotional,

Mental.

Or Spiritual Prisons

Crap. She's talking about me. 

Reading on this is the scripture used for this particular day. The day I'm wide awake. As if I had just downed a medium french vanilla 2 and 2 from Dunkin' in 15 seconds flat awake at 5 am.  

You comfort all who mourn. You provide

for those who grieve in Zion - to bestow on

us a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil

of gladness instead of mourning, and a 

garment of praise instead a spirit of despair.

Isa. 61:1-3a

Crown of beauty instead of ashes.

Oil of gladness instead of mourning.

A garment of praise. Garment.

I had to put it on. I had to go in my closet, pick it out, squeeze into it (because with my depression comes a serious craving for the junky stuff), and put. it. on. No matter how uncomfortable it may be at first. Because like most of my spandex laced jeans it will stretch a bit and feel a bit more comfortable as the day goes on. 

So that day I was gonna do it. I spiritually and physically got dressed. 

I found my "thankful" journal à la Ann Voskamp and wrote everything I was thankful for: the silly stuff (cookie butter, warm slippers, a Wegman's less than a 3 minute drive away from my front door) the real stuff (a healthy little girl, a husband who loves me for who God made me, our home, a reliable car) and the Sunday School stuff (His saving grace, His enduring love for me, that I am a princess in His kingdom).  I went on and on for pages and finally I felt it. The deep thankfulness of who He is and what He's done for me. Just for me. Only me. 

I turned on KLove.... which is huge for me. I'm not 100% sold on KLove. I mean, who on Earth is that chipper in the morning? Nobody, that's who. Nope. I don't wanna hear that kind of saccharine sweetness until at least after 10 am. Shut it and play the music Kanklefritz. Of which about 1/4 of which I actually like on it's own musical merit...... but this time I didn't listen to be entertained. I listened as if it was part of my spiritual ensemble. 

I cleaned. Oh boy, did I clean. Every room, every surface, every nook and cranny (what's a cranny?). And as the house straightened up so did I. I made it my mission to have the kitchen sink empty and shiny every moment I could. Laundry cycled through from hampers to machines and back into closets. No more did we share the dinner table with (clean) socks and undies. I went back to my daily vacuuming habit. My house was clean for nobody else but my little family. You could stop by this very second and I wouldn't need to make a mad dash around the house filling an empty laundry basket to stash in my closet in the time it takes for me to realize you're here to open the back door for you. Seriously. Stop in. Try me. 

I started working out. Nothing fancy. Just some YouTube videos. Something to keep me sweating until I thought I was gonna throw up  moving. Though I dread those 20 minute videos I look forward to that clarity and peace I get after I'm done. (At this point it may be about half an hour after I'm done but at least it comes.) 

So there it is. My new wardrobe. Better than what Stacy and Clinton could shop for (What Not To Wear, anyone?) Some items were an easy buy. Some needed altering. Others I needed to step outside of what's comfortable and try a new style... but it's there. And I think it looks good on me.

....a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair....

****PSA: Depression is real. Depression is painful. Sometimes God can help you out of it. Other times He can help you get the medical help you need. It's different for every person and every scenario. If you begin to suspect your depression is more than "cabin fever" or "baby blues" please seek help. Tell your husband, tell your friends, tell your family. Then tell your doctor. It's OK to get the help you need to be the Mama your babies need.  ****

What am I doing with my LIFE?!

Can I just say I adore you? Once again I'm blown away by your support and outpouring of love.

I love knowing that you're out there being blessed. Once again I'm getting positive feedback and encouragement where I didn't even begin to imagine it. I'm being blessed by your being blessed and then you're blessing me back and now I'll try my best to bless you again.

And in all this God's just smiling saying "See.... I told ya!" with his bullhorn.

So if you're being blessed feel free to share this on your Facebook page or with a friend who doesn't know me personally or someone not on Facebook. (Are there still people out there NOT on Facebook?! Good job resisting temptation you peoples.). Then the giant circle of blessings can continue!

If you're not feeling blessed, let me know. Email me. Message me. Text me. Let's talk. Over cookie butter; everyone is blessed by cookie butter.

_________________

I have some very wise people in my life. They probably don't know they're so wise, in fact I'm pretty sure that one particular four year old can't even spell "wise"... but they're there. Feeding me things I didn't even know I was starving for.

Case in point:

My Mother in Law. No... I mean it, my Mother in Law. I love this woman. For the past 15 years she has been my mom where the gap lay. She's my best friend and closest confidant. My sounding board and filter. (My filters are broken.) So for the rest of this and all future posts she will be referred to as "Mom". Yes, this can be a bit creepy if you think about the fact I consider my husband's mom to be my mom too much so let's not linger there very long...  Back to what I was saying.

My Mother in Law: We were having a conversation over dinner last week. I was in the middle of a slump, a lull, a funk. A honest Eyeore's-Lost-His-Tail grumpfest.    

I was feeling overwhelmed and useless as the chaos of keeping up a home was crushing and futile. When there must be more to life than the never ending laundry and the constant sinkful of dishes. Then I tossed out this gem. 

                   

(credit: Homestar Runner. Seriously.)

Mom looked at me and with inadvertent wisdom said "What do you mean 'What are you doing with your life?' You're doing it."

Woah. Mind. Blown.

That's it. Whatever I'm doing with my life is what I'm doing. Every day, every moment. 

If I'm homeschooling or doing dishes or laundry or doing PT or being a wife (Mmmmm..... Dat Beard) or scrubbing floors or making beds or vacuuming or taking my girl to swim classes or cooking dinner or paying the bills or organizing my daughter's toys for the 1,000,000th time this week or blogging or doing MOPS stuff or....

....WHATEVER....

That's what I'm doing with my life. 

The fact is that I'm into my 30's. I've bought, financed and paid off cars. I can file my taxes without a single bead of sweat. Not only do we have a mortgage.... we re-financed this past year!  I'm as "adult" as I'm gonna get before entering the "old" zone. 

THIS is what I'm doing with my life. 

The mundane stuff of life can sound so depressing. 

Shouldn't I be doing MORE? I mean, I personally know ladies who have their own businesses and who are in the process of publishing books and some who have more letters after their name than are in the alphabet... oh and they're wonderful moms, too. (Of course they are, those perfect ladies. Jesus loves you and so do I.)

What happened to those dreams I had of being a photographer or author or social worker or business owner or publicist? How did I go from making that "When I grow up" collage in late elementary school to changing diapers all day, every day?! (Well, not anymore... she's 4.... but you get the idea.)

When people I meet outside of my Mommy world ask me what I "do", I WANT to say more than "I'm a stay at home mom". I want to say "I have my own Etsy shop." or "I'm a freelance writer." or "I started writing this little blog and it just sky rocketed into a national speaking tour." (Dream big, sista. Dream big.)

Several times in the last several years I tried to MAKE things happen. Take on new opportunities just because I could. Things I was good at. Things outside the house, beyond the SAHM life, things that I sold my time to be paid in money or power or prominence or even a better position in heaven. 

Now, before I start getting nastygrams let me clarify a few points: 1- Working outside the house as a Mother is not a sin. Mommyhood takes many paths, each of them specifically for each mother/child(ren) combination. Mommy wars closed, OK? 2- I never did anything inappropriate, from the outside everything looked on the up and up and many of these were "godly" pursuits. (read: No. I was not a stripper....... Why are you laughing?) 3- I know I am saved by grace and not by works now. But I have a heavy Catholic background; old faiths die hard. 

But what was desperately missing from each one of these ventures is that I was not called to them. Let me repeat: I. Was. Not. Called. To. Them. 

Not. Called. To. Them.

Yep, not even that ministry. Yeah, the one where I'm good at stuff. Where I have long learned skill and ability. The one that looks to everyone on the outside a perfect match for me so I should do it. And be happy about it..... but if I am not called by God to serve there. If my focus is no longer serving God but making false idols of pride and vanity. If my own motivation isn't to obey God but seek the praise of man. .... then it will cause me to fall. 

And I fell. 

Hard. 

Into a pit of angry. 

And THAT was depressing.

After I processed the "guilt" that came with leaving each of these jobs/ministries/volunteer positions (Remember: heavy Catholic background) I had overwhelming peace. That cloud of anger and resentment dissipated and I was able to focus on Him and hear His plan for my life. I knew that whatever I was "supposed" to be doing with my time would happen. That if a new opportunity came by and I prayed and waited for a clear answer from God then it would be blessed. 

This means timing the jump just right. In some cases I've already jumped, and it's been awesome. Beyond awesome. Pure awesomesauce. Not all the time, but enough of the time so I know without a doubt He's in it.

In others I'm just waiting for what's next. Waiting but not obsessing. Because when I know, I'll know. 

So in the meantime when the question bubbles and churns in the back of my head. When I find myself the midst of sprawling toys and dirty laundry mountain ranges and dealing with whatever that funky stuff is behind the toilet. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the toothpaste covered bathroom mirror still in my PJ's while the wild beast takes her afternoon nap.... "What am I DOING with my life?!"

I will not spend another moment being depressed. I will stand up straight and proud and unshowered in my 3:30 pm pajamas and say "I am doing THIS because I am called to THIS."

I will let His peace cover me because I am where He wants me to be. For now.

And then I will take a shower.

So this is happening.

I love me a good blog. I mean, if you're reading this and you write a blog.... chances are I stalk you read it.

I just enjoy reading good writing, and as a mama I don't necessarily have the time/opportunity to sit down and read a book. I mean, I may get an hour on a random Tuesday to read a bit but by the next time I have a chance to immerse myself in said book I have to spend 15 minutes of re-reading to remember why Jamie is imprisoned in the Bastille and Claire has to throw herself at the mercy of the King of France.... sorry. Outlander moment.

Anyway, I don't have time to read big sweeping novels (AND maintain a home/ homeschool/therpaize my child..... in a satisfactory manner) and I'm thankful for Bloggers who take the time out of their hectic lives to share a slice of their real. So I can feel a connection with another human adult. Whether it's a high profile blogger like Ann VosKamp (http://www.aholyexperience.com/) or Jill Smokler (http://www.scarymommy.com/author/admin/) or a new wife/mother on blogger sharing her heart with anyone who passes by.

Thank you. There are many of us out here who love/need it. Don't stop. Keep going. Keep writing something I can read while I find myself with 5 consecutive minutes to myself and don't feel so alone. Thank you.

_____________

Recently I was given the opportunity to share my real at my MOPS group. A testimony, if you will. It was raw and real and rough. For me. A few weeks prior I had written out my thoughts, just for myself (as I do many times in many situations) and God whispered to me, using a spiritual bullhorn, urging me to share these particular thoughts with an intimate group of about 35 ladies. (and a well known local licensed clinical social worker who was that week's speaker. I'm sure had a field day analyzing me in her head.) *

A little part of me wanted to call in sick... praying for the stomach bug. In fact, minutes before I was to speak I had a mini-panic attack and with help of our MOPS co-coordinator (and good friend) found the strength to get up and share.... without crying or puking.

The response that followed was mind-blowing.

I did not expect anything I received for sharing my heart and the journey I had been on. Over the next couple of days I had mommy-friends hug me and thank me for being so real. I got facebook messages and posts with positive comments and full of love. I heard so many "me-toos" and even an "I needed that."

I needed that.

And God whispered to me with his bullhorn "See.... told ya."

______________

A seed was planted to write a blog of my own. Not like the one I already have; a mommy blog cataloging my little one's life.... but sharing my normal so others can not feel so alone in the normal of their own.

I kept it to myself, quietly praying for His will. A few nights ago I shared with my husband at the dinner table what I was thinking about. I ended my spiel with ".... on one hand it seems pretentious to even think that anyone would care to read it. On the other I feel by not doing it I'm running away from God."

My 4 year old piped up "Oh, Mommy. Don't run from God. You need to run TO God. That's what He wants."

And the decision was made.

I have no illusions of grandeur. Most likely, I will never be guest speaking at Women of Faith. I won't be going to Liberty to get a degree in theology so I can share a deeper understanding of the Bible in the original text with you. I can't imagine publishing a book out of any of this.

But hopefully, I can help make you feel less alone as we do this life. As we find our normal

(Realistic dramatization of Jessica at her computer)

*Someday soon I'll get up the guts to publish that testimony on this blog. For everyone to read. At their leisure. For all of eternity. (barf)