Lost

I have hated to say I was lost, or that I didn’t know ‘who I am,’ anymore. Those words somehow didn’t fully fit. There was a disconnect, though, that I felt between my past and present self, and I couldn’t bridge that gap. In search of that missing piece I set out on a journey that felt misguided. I scored through the stories in my past until I landed on something that brought me home.

I’m the girl from lone tree creek. I am living in the land covered in trees and full of bodies of water but, I grew up with a single scanty tree on the banks of a dry creek. A tree that grew under dire circumstances and thrived under pressure. That grew at a permanent angle from wind and hardship. A creek that 360 days of the year was a mere trail in the grass.

Now, I live surrounded by healthy looking trees full of leaves and that fall out off the ground by the roots when the wind by chance blows. On banks of rivers and lakes abounding in water, where ships sail and lighthouses guide them.

Deep inside of me though is the survivalist instinct of the lone tree, growing sideways in the wind on the banks of a dry creek. Her roots are deep, and firmly grounded; finding water from the depths of the earth. Though the trials of life have left their mark, the tree stands.

Stronger; in grieving

Grief has a way of surprising you.

You look ahead at life and think you couldn’t go on anymore if the worst happened. You see others loose a spouse, a child, a friend and think you could never continue on in the way they do. You can’t imagine a reality where you didn’t have the life with them that you built.

Then it happens.

You lose your dad/spouse. You lose a friend. Overnight the world you know stops, shatters in million pieces, and things go on. Except they don’t. Not the same way as before. Never the same. You learn that you are stronger than you ever imagined possible and weaker, too.

That’s where the surprising thing about grief comes in. You assumed you’d never be able to go on again if you lost someone close. What you didn’t know is that you would; you will go on. How? Because an invisible strength comes in with pain and you might not see it until years later, but it’s there. It’s there in the silence, in the sorrow, in the noise, in the mundane everyday…it’s there.

That invisible strength is God wrapping you close in His arms and carrying you through life until you can put your own two feet down again. He doesn’t stop your heart from breaking but He weeps with you while you weep. He could stop your pain but instead He carries you. Like a mother soothing a toddler; tired, hungry and worn from play.

It’s unusual, though not uncommon, for a grief to engulf a country but when it does, when the world stops momentarily from the blow, reels back a bit from the pain, staggers forward and falls to its knees, the collective gasp is not unheard. The cries land equally on the ears of the Father and He wraps those ever-loving arms around us as a whole, pulling us near and weeping in unison with us. We feel a little lost, confused, and hurt but He’s there, holding us, loving us, wiping our tears and getting ready to lift us up on His shoulders where we will find comfort, strength, hope and purpose once again. Things may never go back into the same box again, but the most loved things in life are always a little worn on the edges and raveled at the seams.

We don’t get to be here long

As we met tonight to remember a dear friend who now sleeps sound in Jesus, I feel humbled and lowly. I feel the ache of a thousand sorrows and I struggle to make sense of it all. I also feel peace and I melt into the healing warmth of it like a balm that spreads into my deepest places. I look into the horizon of the coming morning to see the anniversary of the last physical time I saw my father alive – three months before sleep crossed his brow for a final time. I feel pain that is just as fresh as the day it was wounded and yet a bit different, too. A little bittersweet, for without it my todays would not be as vibrant, my tomorrows would not be as guarded; yet with it, my yesterday is clouded. While my yesterday is marred with weeping, joy comes in the morning. I often wonder if that got lost in translation, if spelling changed the meaning. For when I read it, my heart says: joy comes in the mourning. Happiness is fleeting; is sinful; is selfish. But joy; joy is not a fake smile or a trinket you pursue. It is a deep and knowing understanding, a comfort in times of trouble. Joy is what carries you onward. And joy is what I look forward to now.

Thoughts in sorrow

In the last few weeks I have experienced the loss of a trusted and chosen person in my child’s life- her teacher. She was an important and vital part of our lives and losing her suddenly and so unexpectedly is tearing all of us up inside. Her loss was deep and her legacy was wide. The impact is evident not only in her family, or the walls of her classroom and school, but out into the local community and farther even, to all who read her life story.

The following is an edited for privacy exert of the immediate thoughts and feelings I had and shared with the staff:

We are only on this earth temporarily and times like this strongly remind us of that. The bitter sting we feel at the onset of news like this cannot keep us down forever. As we struggle with understanding the whys, the mercies of the Lord surround us and uplift us, carrying us through in ways you don’t understand, until you’ve felt it happen. Just as a wildfire devastates the land, yet opens the way for new growth, life and beauty, so this feels achingly empty, violent and cruel and yet is already opening our hearts to new hope, life and love. 

I ache for the children who have lost their safe person, their confidant, their cheerleader in life. I wish they didn’t have to go through this or feel this pain and loss; yet, this is a huge learning moment – which doesn’t always come at opportune times – and I can have hope through the pain that our young people will come out stronger, kinder, softer, bolder and with grace that only comes with struggle. 

This doesn’t end here. Satan doesn’t get this victory. Instead we rejoice that this remarkable teacher was ready to meet her Maker and will open her eyes to the beauties of Home. We can also rejoice that our children are being shaped by God for something powerful and huge in their lives. With our continued support, they will not be alone, they will not be left to choke in the weeds of new growth. We will continue to prune them as God sends His rain and the seeds that she planted, sprout and flourish.

What if

What if it was you that struggled to go out in public.

What if it was you that couldn’t breathe in large crowds.

What if fireworks made you take cover and go back in time to when you protected your country? Who would protect you now?

What if some days you only wanted to sleep, but night time kept you awake when everyone else slept?

What if you felt worthless, and unwanted even in the midst of joy and fullness? What if the feeling of being a burden consumed you to an early grave? Who would fight for you?

Maybe it IS you that struggles. Maybe it is someone you love. One in four people suffer from an invisible illness that dictates their actions, feelings, and life; 1 in 4. Is it you? What if it was?

What if you got help and you got ridiculed by those you love? What if the fear of being ridiculed held you back from getting help? What then?

Mental health is real, and is misunderstood, downplayed, and shamed. It doesn’t have to be that way. Every little bit of information you take in to understand what someone else is going through can save someone’s life.

Suicide is a choice, but it’s also a struggle, a pulling, a deep draw that the sufferer can’t shake. They NEED understanding and support in order to prevent taking those steps.

There are many reasons behind everything, and not one easy answer, but trying to understand, offer support, and stop shaming those struggling is a good start to saving someone from their illness.

Mental Health

Imagine you break your leg. You walk out of the er with crutches and a cast. You get cheered and praised for a rite of passage into a club of bragging how it happened. Friends sign your cast with love, praise and humor. Sounds almost tolerable, am I right?

Now imagine you get diagnosed with diabetes. There may be some shock, some tears, some concern, but soon you adjust to the lifestyle and take your meds, measure your blood sugar, manage your hunger, and let people know when you need help. It may be a bother, but people accept that you need to eat at certain times and it becomes a way of life.

Now take it further and imagine you have a mental illness that creates feelings that you can’t process normally. Like diabetes where you need help to produce insulin, you need help producing chemicals that even your mood. Like a broken bone, sometimes you need extra care, space and time to mend. Some feelings pass, some consume you. Some will take your life if not managed. If there was a way to manage this, wouldn’t you?

But imagine that the management of your illness causes embarrassment. If there isn’t a story of grandeur to explain how it happened or an accepted explanation as to why you need a little help, and instead you get grief or ridiculed for suffering, would you still get help? Because most people won’t. Most will suffer in silence denying anything is wrong. They will battle demons that consume them while you ask them why they can’t just get over it.

Someone with a cast can’t run a race, but one day the cast will come off and they can. Someone with diabetes may need to take a break to eat sooner than someone else, or skip a sweet that most wouldn’t think twice about eating. Someone with asthma will need moments where they need assistance breathing. Many people will take medicines to manage blood pressure, cholesterol, headaches, chest pain, blood sugar, heart rhythms, eye function, bone density, and more, but when someone mentions they take medicine to even their mood, stop suicidal thoughts, to sleep, to wake up, to prevent night mares, to stop anxiety, to relax, to be happy; suddenly there’s a lot of stigma. Why can’t you be happy? Why can’t you relax? Why can’t you stop yelling? Why do have to organize? Why don’t you sleep? Why don’t you wake up? Why do you need meds to do these things? Just stop feeling that way and be happy.

The thing is, not everyone can “just be happy”. It’s not about being grateful for the things you have, the people in your life or being alive. It’s about your body’s response to these things. Just like someone else may need a little extra support to produce insulin, someone else may need a little extra support producing dopamine, serotonin, melatonin, oxytocin or others. Just like someone may break or sprain a bone and need time to mend, someone else may need to spend some time in therapy to feel like themself again.

Let’s break the stigma around mental health so our loved ones don’t have to suffer in silence, alone, or in denial. One in four people will suffer from a mental disorder or illness and ignoring their need doesn’t fix it. Supporting them for getting help, praising them for being strong enough to seek help, being there when they stumble and when they overcome: that’s what we all need.

White Picket Fences

We all have that American dream life somewhere down deep. The white picket fence, the new car, the mansion, the kids, the dog, the cat, the job, the smiles and home cooked meals. You know which dream. It looks a little different in everybody’s mind, but the concept is the same.

Truth is reality is harsh. And white picket fences are rare.

We can’t fully live life until we watch the life we dreamed about disappear into the distance and start to embrace the life that reality gave us. Sometimes you can build what you want but you usually have to work with the pieces you have.

My reality never dreamed about suicide being a daily battle in this house. It never dreamed about how difficult raising kids is, or making decent meals on a budget. It never dreamed that paper products would become luxuries and ‘reduce, reuse, recycle’ would become a life saving mantra decided on by income. I’m not moved by saving trees, but I am moved by saving money.

I don’t think I ever imagined parenting alone because my husband’s health was failing, or keeping a house afloat on sheer willpower and hope because money and time are luxuries I can’t afford. When you bite your lip and accept what you are given because you can’t change it, you learn to be gracious and learn how to use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without. You reuse, upcycle, repair, or just accept that you can’t fix it. Money, whether you want it to or not, rules your decisions.

I don’t know what the future holds; could be better, could be worse. I know the past held a bright eyed dreamer in a constant state of hope regardless of the circumstances; and that the present holds a jaded realist who knows that God is all that matters, because the rest is like quick sand.

White picket fences would be awesome, but having no fence can be equally enclosing if you let yourself become captive of all your jaded dreams.

Spring Break

I had big hopes for spring break. Sleeping in, staying home. Breaking from the mundane and entering rest.

You know what they say about plans, though, and instead I found the week passing by rapidly, hours spent in hospital waiting rooms, drs offices, and financial offices. We were never home, never sleeping, and never resting.

My husband has many health issues as a navy vet. He is disabled. His health is not my liberty to speak about, but it is my issue to defend. Over the last 10 years of marriage we have had our share of tests and trials; and put the for better or worse, in sickness and health, through the ringer. I have heard it all, that he is faking, that he’s seeking attention, that the drs are wrong, that the tests prove nothing, that he’s overreacting, that he should suck it up and get over it. That’s all well and good, but you aren’t the one in his shoes or mine.

You don’t see his struggle.

You haven’t felt his pain or witnessed it. You haven’t read his tests or diagnosed it. You haven’t sat up nights in prayer for him to find some peace or relief.

Chronic conditions don’t make sense to the normal eye. You get sick, you get over it. But for those whose bodies don’t react properly anymore, any sickness can trigger a chain reaction of health issues.

So I’m not sorry when after a week of stressful appointments, more questions than answers, sleepless nights, hours of prayer, scores of research and study, that I am defensive and protective of myself, my children and my husband. I know what works, what hasn’t, and what he responds to most.

Chronic suffering is no joke and not a cry for attention. Unless you are walking in HIS shoes, keep your non-medical opinions to yourself. Don’t question my loyalties, or my knowledge. I have been walking this road a long time.

And I will be walking it to the end.

Living with someone suicidal

I’m sure you mean well when you inform me of what’s best for my husband. I’m sure you, a random stranger, have done the hours of research and countless appointments with specialists. I’m sure you have a degree in phycology and can re-diagnose him by observation alone.

Thing is, I’m the one who lives with him. Who sees his battle. Who stays up countless hours by his side just to keep him alive.

Your advice falls empty on my ears because it’s all up to him how he follows his treatment. I can back him, help him, encourage him, but I can’t make the choices for him. Only he can do that.

I can prevent him from hurting himself, if he lets me. He’s a big man; if he really wanted anything bad enough he could do it. So, I may make the house safer, hide and discard pills, knives, guns, ropes, scissors, but overall, he is strong and educated. He could take his life in a minute.

Knowing what my role is in all of this is hard enough already. I can support the healthy options he has for survival, I can save him from time to time. But overall, he has to find his own way.

It’s up to him to survive. Up to him to keep fighting. Up to him to find what works for him. If the fight leaves him, it’s only a matter of time before the disease wins.

I am only his helpmeet, I am not God, not superwoman, not even a doctor. I can encourage, support, lead and walk with him, but the will to live is his, and his alone.

Suicide isn’t a one and done thing. It’s a constant battle most people don’t hear about until it’s over. Luckily for me, he has me to battle alongside, it’s all there for him if he chooses to utilize it.

Letter to my Sweetpea

My dearest Sweetpea,

It is the eve of your ninth birthday. You’ve been in our life a decade. A decade! From the first moment we knew you existed, you changed our lives. You made me a mother. You made me face the mirror and go from selfish to selfless. With your birth, you emerged and a new me did, too.

I went into labor on March 3, 2009. I had steady, regular contractions, and back pain. But you weren’t in any hurry. For three days we hoped and waited, riding every contraction like an excited surfer riding ocean wave after ocean wave. We went out to dinner, we had take out, we walked through a store, we slept, we cleaned. Still you took your time.

When you finally arrived, time stood still. Everything else ceased to matter. For 48 hours I was in a dream, learning who you were, learning who I was, learning how to mother you.

You brought a deep joy into our lives. You gave me everything I ever hoped for. You taught me how to love deeper, hope bigger, walk taller and speak louder. I would do anything to make you know how much you are loved, not only by me, but by God Who created you, sculpted you and gifted you to my care.

You are bright and curious. You think deeply, contemplating things, learning things, and then with all joy, you abandon care in a beautiful and transforming way. You trust so deeply and love so freely. You don’t worry about anything and take everything as it comes in stride.

I pray you always keep your wonder, your joy, your deep trust; I pray you never let the weight of worry cross your shoulders. I pray you always see the good in the world and shun evil. Like a serpent, be wise of the world, but like a dove, be innocent and pure; living here, but not from here. You are set aside, chosen, a daughter of the King of Kings. You are bathed in light and pure in spirit. Never let the devil steal your joy. It’s God’s gift to you.

I love you and and am so proud of you. You are a hard worker and can do anything you set your mind to.

Thank you for being my daughter.

Happy birthday, Sweetpea