That Christmas changed me.

One year ago, on Christmas Eve, I was asked to open up the Christmas Eve service at my church.  I surprised myself by saying yes without thinking about it, and even more so by following through and speaking in front of a large crowd of my church family.

Just a few days ago, I saw a post online that reminded me of that night and what I tried to express verbally about how my approach toward the meaning of Christmas has changed over the years.  Since I read the online post, I have been thinking about it again, as I do every year, but maybe just a little bit more this year than in the past few years. This year has definitely given more time for thinking about things, hasn’t it?  I have been revisiting my own experience with the meaning of Christmas so frequently since then, feeling the compelling need to write it out, that I do not fully recall the details of what I read that prompted this self-reflection in the first place. 

It has been an exceptionally long week, it feels like, and I am past the brink of exhaustion, but now that my children are sound asleep and I am sitting in quiet stillness beside the lights of our Christmas tree with remnants of gift opening still scattered a few places throughout the living room, I feel compelled to try to express the thoughts of my tired mind through my fingertips before I can drift off to sleep.  My spirit feels awakened and like there is so much to say, I just hope that it flows out in somewhat coherent formation.

Christmas is such a profound time of year.  In the Christian faith, the meaning of Christmas centers around the arrival of God here on earth, as a tiny human baby, ready to live a life for us, to die for us, so we can live forever.  It’s about true love.  It’s about blessing.  It’s about giving.  It’s about family.  It’s about all of these monumental, incredible, overwhelmingly good things.

It’s also about sacrifice.  It’s about saying yes to the most encompassing love you can feel, birthing a true miracle, knowing that it is a gift for you, but knowing it is to be given as a gift for all of mankind, for all of your life, and for all of eternity.

I can hardly fathom that, even knowing what it is about.

I can remember the first time that all really penetrated my heart, though.

It was a decade ago.  

It was a barely lit room.

It was the middle of a quiet night.

It was with a tiny, almost 8 week-old baby boy on my bosom, and a dog at my feet.

It was a gut wrenching, tear producing moment in the middle of a cold winter’s night.

It was the moment that I feel I saw what Mary saw, the night she held Jesus in her arms in that stable, half a world away from where I was, centuries before I ever walked the earth. 

I had my miracle son in my arms.

I felt so selfishly grateful that I knew I was not in Mary’s shoes, having to sacrifice my son for the world.  I wept as I imagined what her life was like.  I tried to fathom what it would be like, to grow my son inside my body, and years later, have to watch my son’s body be beaten and broken, the life tortured away in front of the masses, the weight of the world’s sins upon his back as he bled and died for all of those who loved him, those who did not know to love him, those all around the world.  At the same time, I realized that it was possible that, loving and living a life for Jesus could mean that some day, however unlikely it seems, my son may end up sacrificing himself for the love of others in this world.  I prayed it would never happen, and I could keep him for ever and always until the end of my time.  I felt relieved to know that it was never God’s plan for me to fill Mary’s shoes.

However, I admired Mary. She had the most amazing strength, and I bet she did not realize how strong she was. 

Yet, also, I pitied Mary.  She watched the most brutal and prolonged murder of her blessed baby boy and knew she had to allow it to happen.

I thought about how she spent her son’s entire loving him, nurturing him, and devoting herself to him, in a way no mother had to prior nor ever will again.  She knew from the moment she conceived him that he was sent for the world but her momma’s heart would have had no idea what that entailed.  She knew she was going to be sacrificing her body, her heart, and her soul for her son, for all of humanity, and despite knowing the details, she said yes.  She had the most incredible, willing faith.

I know that Christmas is not about Mary.  But I also know that thinking about Mary that Christmas changed me.  

Holding my own son in my arms that night brought such a deeper meaning to the gift of true love, blessed upon the world, born to save us all.  I saw the true meaning of Christmas in my own baby’s eyes.

I believe that processing and understanding the depth of this realization will be a lifelong process for me.  Every year, I believe I understand a little bit more.  It is a gift given to me by my journey through motherhood.   I have heard commentary about how magical and joyful it is to experience Christmas as a child, but how much more magical and joy-filled it is to experience children living out the wonder of Christmas.  I think there’s truth to that, but I definitely contend that the meaning of Christmas is what changed most for me having my children to experience Christmases alongside.

Knowing that Christmas is about the true love born as a baby, given for the restoration of our eternity and relationship with our Heavenly Father is something I try to instill upon my children.  I know it gets lost often in the merriment of giving and receiving of gifts, the chaos and clatter of paper and packages, the fawning and fighting that may go along with an abundance of material blessings all in one grand swoop, but I try.  Knowing what I know, recalling that night a decade ago helps guide me through exciting, yet sometimes stressful holiday moments, and helps me take some quiet moments to center my heart back where it belongs, not in current circumstances where children maybe had a little too much Christmas excitement for the day and are emotionally exhausted and physically fried, but in my gratefulness for the gift only our Heavenly Father could give, and the thankfulness for that young mother, eons ago, who said yes to a calling and gifted her most treasured blessing, her miracle, for me.

I pray that someday, my children are able to more fully embrace a deeper, truer meaning of Christmas.  I know that they know it’s about Jesus being born for us so that he could die and bring us to God. But, perhaps, one day as an adult, they too will be able to feel the depth and profound meaning of Christmas in a child’s eyes, if they do not have that opportunity while gazing into their mother’s as children themselves.

I have had my share of monumental type Christmases in a wide variety of ways, each of which had a lasting impact on my memories and emotions, shaping my life story and sculpting me into who I am.

That Christmas ten years ago changed me in ways I am still discovering.

NMW

 No Matter What

NMW

Those are my initials. 

Actually, years ago, my dear cousin, my Bean, Tarah, pointed that fact out to me.  She said when she saw the phrase “no matter what,” she thought of me.

In church this morning, Pastor Brent Parker gave an amazing message about peace.  I recommend it to anyone right now, and it’s accessible via Church at the Gate’s website.

In the midst of the message, he used the phrase “no matter what” and it latched my attention, hook, line, and sinker.  I actually picked my phone up from under my chair and wrote myself a note- “NMW + Peace” is all it said.

Peace, no matter what.

Peace, NMW.

This world has been shaken this year in countless ways.  We are living through something that I believe most would think, we were completely unprepared to live through.

Because of the chaos and the uncertainty we all face right now, the world as a whole is struggling.  There’s upheaval and unknowns and it is unsettling for many.

The world needs peace.

It was a timely message, in that it’s December, it’s advent, and we are preparing for Christmas.

Christmas is the celebration when none other than the Lord of Lords, the King of Kings, the Prince of Peace, inhabited the earth.  He born himself among us, to walk alongside us, to show us the goodness of God.

Then, he gave His life so that we could be with him, always.  We are with Him now, in each and every moment, and if we allow Him to, He is with us in each of our hearts.  He is our spirit and soul.  

The world is searching for peace right now.  They’re looking for it- as a thing.  

And, as Brent pointed out, peace isn’t a thing.

Peace is a who.

That Who is right here, right now, every moment before, every moment coming up, every miniscule space of this gigantic world.  Peace is all around.

I know, to someone who doesn’t know the Prince of Peace yet, it all sounds silly.  It sounds like something that cannot possibly be true.  It sounds like something to research and try to prove as reality instead of just going all in and believing.  It sounds too good to be true.

But it is true.

We can have Peace, NO MATTER WHAT, because Peace has us and is just waiting for us to accept Him.

No matter what, NMW has Peace.  While I know I have it, every moment of my life, because I have Him, I also know the reality of the situation is sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it.  I’ve found that’s usually because I’ve forgotten to look for peace as a who, and have started striving again for peace as a thing.  It’s easy to fall back to that, though it gets less frequent with time.  

I’m still learning this.  It’s a lifelong journey, and the destination is not the goal, it’s the process we take to arrive there that has the most meaning.  It’s what grows us the fullest and roots us the deepest.  It’s what softens and expands our hearts and our minds.  When we finally arrive at the destination, we will understand that much better. 

Honestly, when I realized my Peace is a who, I can see CLEARLY that I've been walking this year, this lifetime, out in Peace all along- even when it didn't seem like it.

I write this not only to you, but to myself, as a reminder.  This year has been incredibly difficult and I’ve spent days lacking peace as a thing.  Thankfully, I’ve been blessed with a family that has been so firm but gentle, and overwhelmingly loving, when they steer me back to my Peace as a who.

I pray that in this Christmas season, you can join me in preparing and accepting the Peace that’s been here all along since the figurative beginning of literal endless time.   I pray striving ceases, and acceptance abounds, and from that acceptance, Love will overcome the world before our eyes.

“Our faith in Jesus transfers God’s righteousness to us and he now declares us flawless in his eyes.  This means we can now enjoy TRUE and LASTING PEACE with God, all because of what our Lord Jesus, the Anointed One, has done for us.” -Romans 5:1 (TPT)

Let the words flow from my mind through my fingertips

I love to create.  I love photography, painting, coloring, crafting, crocheting, singing, wood burning, and so many other random ways of seeing something come into being by the work of my mind and my hands.

I love writing.  I love writing beautiful words in script, I love writing notes and letters, I love writing down my thoughts and sharing them with others when applicable.  I have kept a journal or a blog of some kind for most of my life. 

Last year, it was spoken over me that I would speak in front of people.  I saw that come to life shortly after, giving a portion of my testimony in front of the women’s group at church, and then by opening up Christmas Eve church a couple of months later.  But, as I’ve said to multiple people, I write more fluidly than I speak.

This year, it has been spoken over me that I would write more.  I haven’t been sure of how that would come to fruition, but I have seen myself writing more and more, whether it is comments in online Bible study and church services, social media posts, little notes, digital artwork, or blog posts, I have been slowly seeing more words flow from my mind through my fingertips.

It’s even been spoken over me that I should or will write a book some day.  Time will reveal that, I’m sure, although I cannot even begin to imagine what I would fill an entire book with.

This morning, I watched church from home once again, still recovering from the after effects of my second positive Covid test and infection at the end of September.  Today, our pastor and his wife, again, spoke over me in regard to releasing writing.  Then, to my surprise, the service was about creativity and how we are all crafters in our own ways.  We all bring things to life.

As I sat and listened and reflected on my own personality and my love of making things, often times to bless other people, I remembered the weekend prior to getting sick again.  

I attended a women’s conference at my friend’s church- the Enough Conference.  This year, it was focused on being equipped and empowered, and reflected quite a bit on the pandemic we are currently living through.  Multiple times, it was asked, “what are you afraid of, what’s holding you back?”  The premise is that we are all living through a scary, overwhelming, unknown time in our lives, but we are surviving and overcoming it all.  If we can get through these days, what is keeping us from our purposes?

I recall, that weekend, wondering what my purpose is.  What am I supposed to be bringing to this world right now?  If I was created for such a time as this, what am I supposed to contribute to this time?  

Those questions lasted a few days, until one night, I laid in my bed, and the words “empowered” and “equipped” kept circling around in my mind.

Years ago, I wrote poetry, frequently, in my bed, in the dark, with my pen on the paper and unable to see what my script looked like until morning. I would let it fly from my fingers without criticism until I refined it in the daylight.

That night, I pulled out my phone, and with very little editing involved, I let the words glide onto my screen. 

I love music, especially worship music.  I sometimes think of my own testimony as a worship song, although it’s not really put to an audible melody.  After I wrote these words, I thought of them as worship as well, although they too, lack an audible melody.  I haven’t been sure of what I am supposed to do with these words, so they’ve been sitting in secret for almost two months.  

This morning, I felt it was time to release them.  I wrote this as a reminder to myself on the days and nights I wonder, questions, and struggle.  I have spent many hours searching, and sometimes, I search for so long that I see right past the beautiful, simple, wholesome answers that God provides.

Perhaps you’re out there, much like I was, and have been multiple times, wondering what your purpose is in times such as these.  Perhaps, you wonder who you are inside.  Perhaps, you wonder what your value is in this world.  These words are for you, too.

Let me assure you, you have a purpose, you are a beautiful, treasured creation, and God has a plan for you.  There’s something only you can bring to this world.  You too, were created for such a time as this.  

I pray you know that you are cherished, important, and Loved.

 You tell me that I'm a masterpiece-

A wonderful creation, I am unique,

And I know in my heart it is true,

Because I put all of my trust in You.

But some days, I find myself confused.

I pray and wonder “what should be my use?”

I try to read between the lines

Of the words you write over my life.

I peel the layers off the canvas that you paint,

And inspect each imprint on this clay,

Just to see if I can figure out who I'm supposed to be.

But, when I'm finally still and breathing in 

Your Spirit floating like the wind,

And soak in the gentle melody 

you composed for only me,

I realize it's so simple, I don't need to keep searching.

I'm your beautiful, beloved one,

The sparkle in your fiery eyes,

The one you sent your son to guide 

Into your safe and steady arms.

I am chosen and I am equipped,

Empowered for this time I'm living in,

And nothing I can do will change 

The way you feel about

Who I am:

Fearfully, wonderfully, beautifully, carefully, joyfully, perfectly made.

I am your Love.

I will not live a life of fear,

Because the weapons that I need are here

Inside my heart, soul, spirit, and my mind.

The battle rages all around,

But with you the end of war is found.

Death has come knocking at my door.

I will not cower in its shadow anymore.

Your breath of life fills me to overflow...

When I'm finally still and breathing in

Your spirit, floating like the wind,

And soaking in the gentle melody

You composed for only me,

I remember...

I'm your beautiful, beloved one,

The sparkle in your fiery eyes

The one you sent your son to guide 

Into your safe and steady arms.

I am chosen and I am equipped,

Empowered for the time I'm living in,

And nothing I can do will change

The way you feel about me,

What you see when You gaze upon me,

The person I am called to be,

Who I really am-

I am your Love.

I am made to Love.

So, let me Love.

Our first decade together

 Dearest Spencer,

This is it, the end of an era.  Tomorrow, when you wake up, you will no longer be nine.  You will be into the double digits, never to go back.  Tomorrow, you will have been alive and breathing on this earth for ten full years.

That’s a decade, you know.

Tomorrow, we will have made it through our first decade together.   You and I, we’ve always been a special team, you know.  You made me a mommy, and we have learned this life together for 10 full years.

Ten!  It’s such a huge milestone, don’t you think?

It’s so hard to wrap my mind around that number.  I can see each year represented by one finger on my hand.  But from here on out, that will no longer be possible.  That’s so many years, buddy!  We can no longer hold them on our hands.

I remember sitting in our apartment, ten years ago tonight, knowing the next morning you would be on your way into this world.  I was filled with such nervous excitement. I couldn’t imagine the world with you in it. I couldn’t wait to see your face and get to know you.

You know, there were actually years when I wasn’t sure if God was ever going to allow me to be a mommy.  It was a struggle to get there, but God is so good.  You were the answer to that prayer I prayed so many times, and you’ve been an answer to so many prayers since then.

I could not imagine for even a moment just how incredible life would be the moment I first held you in my arms.  I couldn’t imagine what it would really be like to be your mommy, and now there’s no moment I would want to ever try to imagine what it would be like if I wasn’t.

Ten years.  Ten! It’s quite exciting though, don’t you think?  It’s been an absolute joy watching you grow into the young man you’ve become.  Yes, it’s been stressful at times, for both of us, since we are always still learning together.  I am the oldest sibling in my family too, so I know how it can be sometimes.  I try my hardest to get it right, but I know, because I’m human, sometimes, I get it wrong.  The best part about it is that you’ve always loved me and forgiven me when I haven’t quite gotten parenthood right.  You’re human too, and you get mad at me sometimes and say things that aren’t the nicest, but I know deep in your heart that you are so grateful for me.  You’ve said it in so many ways, so many times, by the little notes you leave me that bring me the happiest of tears, to the way you cover me up with blankets if I fall asleep on the couch when I’m not feeling well.  You show it in the way you ask the Alexa to play my favorite songs, and walk by with a smile telling me “this one’s for you, mom.”  There have been more times than I can even count where you just walk by or sit next to me and tell me you love me, or that I’m the best mom in the world.  When I feel like I’m failing, I look at you and your siblings and see how beautiful and strong you are, and I know that failure must not be true.

This year has been hard.  I know that the trauma we have been through together, with me being so sick for so long, took it’s toll on your heart.  I am aware that it was incredibly hard to watch your mom be asleep for almost days on end, or unable to walk across the room without struggling to breathe.  I know how scared you were that I might not make it through a day or a night.  

And, quite honestly, I’m sorry that you had to go through that. I’m sorry my body wasn’t stronger and that it was such a hard time to get through. I’m sorry for the days I was unable to be the best mother, to be a mother you truly deserved.  I’m sorry for the way that it made you grow up just a little bit more, a little bit sooner than either of us would have hoped.  I hope that you know that every time I’ve apologized for being grumpy or rude, that I was sincere, and it broke my heart a little each time that I was not the greatest mom that there is.  

But, I tell you what- the way you have faced this journey has made me so incredibly proud.  I have seen you become such a strong young man, seen the love you have for not only me, but your siblings, the way you helped make sure I was okay and they were okay.  You are a wonderful big brother, yes, even if sometimes you and your siblings fight or say things you don’t mean, and you are a magnificent son.  God knew what he was doing when he placed us together for this life.

I hope that you know that I love you with my entire heart.  I love your siblings with my entire heart too, of course, but you had my heart first.  

This year has shown me so many ways that you have become a creative and independent young man.  One of my favorite memories was just a couple of weeks ago, walking along in the woods, watching you take pictures with my camera.  You brought me the utmost joy watching you in your element. I love taking photographs too, but as a momma, there’s something even more special watching your child develop that interest. I hope that someday we can go on a photography journey together, just the two of us.

I am also so proud and amazed by you and your new interest in playing the viola. I have told you before that I remember being younger and teaching myself the guitar, and being nervous to let others hear me play, so I completely understand that side of you.  When you let me listen to you, my heart just swells with joy, and I see such greatness inside of you.  No matter what happens, no matter how long you decide to play that music, I will hold these memories in my soul forever, and treasure them the rest of my days.

Spencer, you are such a brave, smart, funny, kind, compassionate, strong-willed young man. I know that there are struggles you have, but I know they are things you can and will work through.  

I pray that in the coming year, you really begin to see, feel, and honestly believe just how great a person you are.  I know that you know God holds you dear, but I hope you really, truly feel your value to Him, to your family, to your friends, and to the world.  I know that it’s easy to be hard on yourself and to think negative things, and I just pray that you are able to see that those negative things that come into your mind some times are not true, and that you are in fact all of the good things I have declared just now.  You can do hard things. You will do great things. You will leave this world a better place.  I just know it.

I pray that as you are older, you find it in your heart to not take offense if others say or do things that affect you in a negative way.  I pray that you are always quick to forgive, able to see when you may have not been the kindest or have caused offense, and quick to apologize for those situations with utmost sincerity.  In a world that is full of confusion and chaos, it will get you far in life, and you will stand out among the crowd genuine and sincere.  I pray that you are able to continue to see the good in others and find ways to help when someone needs it.  I have seen you do this so much this year already, and I just hope that that part of you continues to strengthen. I know it’s hard to do the right thing sometimes, but I pray that you’ll hear God’s voice and feel Him help you along in those difficult situations.

I love you, Spencer.   I love your hugs and snuggles, tucking you in and kissing your forehead. I hope we can hold onto them for at least another year.  I hope that, despite the many bumps in the road that have gotten us to this day, that you have had a wonderful first decade with me. I hope you can look back on each year that you have memories, and see that you were loved.  I hope you can see that you’ve had joy and laughter all along, despite the days of tears and heartache. I pray that the good will always outweigh the not as good memories in your mind.  

I cannot wait to see what this next year brings for you.  There are beautiful things on your horizon.  

Thank you for the decade of love, grace, mercy, and memories.

You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I am so glad you’re mine.

I love you.

-Mom

The Ravine

You find yourself teetering the cliff of darkness, pulled away from falling inward by focusing upward instead of down into the pit.  As long as you know where to look, you will be safe.

Sometimes, you have to remind yourself every couple of seconds to look up instead of down, and it’s an exhausting battle for your focus.  It is so much easier to look downward when the weight inside your mind feels like a bushel of stones.  It’s such a heavy burden to carry sometimes.

You realize how close you could be to falling, as a slight falter in your footing knocks a pebble, and as you listen you cannot hear it reaching the bottom.  You realize the cliff is much higher than you can comprehend and if you topple, you do not know if you will ever quit falling.   

Sometimes, you don’t see yourself at the cliff until you’re in that balancing act, having slowly wandered on your way, led there without necessarily realizing it until you’re already at the brink, or maybe you have been traipsing about endlessly, trying to navigate through thick and murky fog, only to realize where you’ve ended up as you are flirting with the gravity lurking before you.  You know that you’re one small misstep from falling, so you try to keep your body still while your head spins around to ascertain where exactly you are in relation to where you began.  

How did you get there?  What lured your steps this way?

You look up again.  You know where to look.  You position yourself the slightest degree, and plant one foot firmly in front of the other.  You know where you belong.  You will not succumb to the ravine.

Sound familiar?

When I wrote that the other night, I saw the ravine as just a dark pit of endless negative thoughts.  I have experienced that ravine before and I have fallen continuously into it for days on end sometimes.  I have always been able to find my way back to where I am centered and focused, thank the Lord.

Admittedly, it’s been a rough year for not only myself but thousands of others.  

I have found in my own life experiences, mentally and emotionally, my nights can be much tougher than my days.  As I lay awake, alone in the dark during those night-time trials, I can feel my spirit weighted down when my thoughts start plummeting.

I have faith in God.  I know He is always with me.  Always.  In fact, I have been blessed with visions or dreams of Him alongside me living out my day to day life.  

But, I am human, I am broken and made whole, but I still struggle sometimes.

Lately, it seems more than I have in months or maybe even years past (and I have had quite a collection of rough years).  I think a lot of it has to do with the loneliness of isolation and quarantine during a pandemic.  I have spent months inside these walls with my children.

While living in isolation, the first two months, I was more open and honest about my thoughts and emotions. I was more willing to talk about what I was thinking or feeling at any given moment.  I was more aware that if I was becoming closed off, I should speak out.  I wrote more for myself and publicly.  I talked on the phone more, even though I have a hard time staying focused on phone conversations.  I cried to more friends.

This time, it has been much harder for me.  I found myself thinking, “here we go again” and not wanting to burden or bother anyone.  I found myself reaching out to people less and less, and as the pandemic surges all around all of us, I don’t even know that I realized it was happening and I certainly did not expect anyone else to notice.

It’s been tough. 

But I’m aware of it now, and that’s step one.  Step two is opening up about it and inviting someone in.  

I want you to know that in the world we’re experiencing right now, whether you believe in God and hold fast to Him as I do, and know He’s always right there and catching your tears even if you don’t feel or see Him, 

Or you don’t,

That it’s okay to admit when you’re struggling.  

It’s okay to get help.

It’s okay to ask others to help you see the joy inside of you.  It’s okay to have others to help you find your hope.  It’s okay to ask others to help guide and anchor you.

Don’t let your perceptions of yourself and the perceptions of the world stop you.

I also venture to say it’s okay to call a friend who you think might be struggling even if they don’t see it themselves.  Sometimes, you will crack that heart wide open and the first steps of the journey can begin.

“In his kindness God called you to share in his eternal glory by means of Christ Jesus.  So after you have suffered a little while, he will restore, support, and strengthen you, and he will place you on a firm foundation.”  1 Peter 5:10. (NLT)

I will celebrate me.

 

Today, I turned 37.  

This past year, as many know, has been quite a year.  I’ve had “quite a year” multiple years in the recent past, where I find myself, on my birthday, reflecting on the year and on birthdays past.  There’s been some real long journeys, many trials, plenty of struggles, and even more perseverance.

This past year has seemed much longer than most years before it, with six long months being spent battling covid-19 and some of it’s lasting effects on my body. If yo know me well or have seen me in “real life” over the last six months, there’s a good chance you’ve noticed.  I try to take it on with a smile, but some days are just tough.  This past week, especially has been a tough one. As much as I would like to try to explain why that is, the truth is that I just don’t really know.  I believe realizing the loneliness that I find myself living through is a portion of it.  Knowing that people out there love me, but cannot be around me, is a difficult thing, especially on a birthday.  Time drags on, for certain, when you spend weeks and months in isolation.   Having my children around during isolation and quarantine (for endless weeks this year) is a blessing, but also, if I’m being honest, can wear on a person when you’re all four stuck within the same walls day after day.

As I have been reflecting on this past year of my life and what it has transpired to be, I remembered, back in February, at a women’s conference at my church, that during personal prayer, dear friends spoke over me that perhaps, this year is a year to be still.  I might slow down and see what God is speaking to me, pray over and wait to hear what plans He has for my life.    I had no idea that only two months later, I would be in for one of the longest “still” journeys I’ve had in my life.

I’ve spent hours in prayer, in worship, in tears, in conversations with God, in online Bible studies, online church, trying to be in touch with his whispers and songs to me.  Looking back, I can see the quarantine has been a blessing when it comes to being still.

It’s been a lonely year, too.  I have voiced before multiple ways it’s been hard on the body, the spirit, the mind, and how strange the world feels to me during this pandemic.  

As life would have it, not only was I infected with covid-19 in March, but I because ill again at the end of September, testing positive for the virus yet again.  Because the wear on my immune system was fairly intense the first time, again, it took weeks for the fever to subside, and guidelines for quarantine have us home again.  I join Norah in having a quarantine birthday this year, meaning there aren’t parties (not that I have birthday parties, but she enjoys them each year, or need fanfare and celebratory events) or hugs from family and friends.  Thankfully, the weather was great this morning, and we were able to quarantine out in nature a while.  Norah woke me up with a “Happy Birthday” yell in my face and presented me with a book filled with art she created for me as a birthday gift from her heart.  

As I continued to reflect on my year, it hit me hard last night, that despite the isolation of my birthday this year, one thing is for certain- this is a birthday worth celebrating.  I was very sick at the beginning of the year, and there was potential to be quite sick again on my birthday today.  God carried me and my children through both of those storms, and I am here, today, to turn 37.

Another dear friend text me earlier today, when I was opening up about this past week and how it was hard on me in various ways.  She said “ask Papa God what He thinks of you.”

So, as we walked along the trail, struggling a little for breath, pressure building in my chest, I asked Him.

He reminded me that I am an Overcomer.  He treasures me, because I am worthy, I am important, and I will do amazing things with my life, even if I don’t always see it.  I have more days ahead to live out His love.

That’s something else to celebrate.  I told the same friend last week, “I get through stuff.”  It’s what I do.  And God always has been faithful to help me find the peace, the joy, the light, even in dark parts of the journey.  This past year was no different, and this next year will be the same.

So, today, I am taking a few quiet moments to rejoice in my own birthday, to celebrate another year well lived, and to embrace the quiet joy I find in my spirit amidst the valley we are making our way through.  I will celebrate me, because I am worthy of celebration.

Beauty from Ashes

“He will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair.  In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks that the Lord has planted for his own glory.”  Isaiah 61:3 NLT

 If you know me personally, you are likely to know that on March 31, 2020, I tested positive for COVID-19.  I have yet to write a detailed post on that, although it’s been on my mind to chronicle my journey medically because the stories are still helping others to fight that battle.  It was a long journey.  I was sick with a fever and persistent symptoms for over six weeks.  I had COVID-19 turn into pneumonia, and shortly after returning to work for a handful of days, I came down with bronchitis which knocked me down and out for another two weeks.  I battled almost all of the symptoms, and while I was fortunate enough to be able to fight the illness off at home, there were a few nights I was not sure I would survive it, many nights I could hardly sleep, multiple nights I was quite scared because I could hardly breathe to walk a few steps, and many, many nights after I would wake up in a panic unable to breathe, or feeling like while I was sleeping I was also suffocating with a lack of oxygen.  I had terrible, migraine like headaches for weeks on end, body pain like I had never experienced before, and so many more issues.  I was contacted a week or so into the illness to ask if when I recovered I would be willing to donate plasma with COVID-19 antibodies (convalescent plasma) and I said definitely.  But they said I needed to be recovered first. I tried multiple vitamins, supplements, antibiotics, and rescue inhaler just to keep on going.  My kids were terrified many nights that I was going to die.  They thanked God that I didn’t almost every night for multiple weeks.

After the six weeks of fever, I realized I still had shortness of breath, cough, headaches, body aches, exhaustion, fatigue, joint pain, muscle pain, nerve pain, and it felt like I was going to have a heart attack more often than I care to remember.  I was considered recovered, but also not considered really recovered. Every time they would call I would still be coughing.  That was the main thing in their mind.  I had to stop coughing and I had to be done with the shortness of breath.

In the middle of July, I had another follow up appointment.  All of my bloodwork came back within normal ranges, with kidney function levels at the very cut-off for the low end of normal range.  But, I still had fevers.  I still had nerve pain.  I still had chest pain and shortness of breath.  My heart was constantly racing when I was awake.

My EKG that day was fine so I wore a Holter monitor for 24 hours to see if it would catch the tachycardia and palpitations I felt.

It did, but I wasn’t considered “bad enough” to need further testing.  I was placed on a beta blocker for the tachycardia (my heart rate exceeded 150 for normal daily activities) and an anti-convulsant for the nerve pain.  I was still coughing, exhausted, in pain, with random spikes in fevers, and always, always tired.

In the middle of August, my cough seemed to mostly disappear.  It’s now the beginning of September and my cough is very rare.  I actually only notice it when I over exert myself, or when I miss my dose of beta blocker.  When I miss my beta blocker dosage, the tachycardia and palpitations come back.  I still have nerve pain, every single day, usually now located only in my hips and legs.  It’s tolerable because I’m used to it.  It’s definitely less on the medication, but it hasn’t disappeared.

I am still exhausted so easily.  My muscles are still rebuilding and hurt and ache.  I still get headaches pretty frequently, and I have some days with really intense brain fog where I feel like a fool.   I rarely wake up in a panic that I am unable to breathe, but I always sleep holding a pillow because I can’t handle the pressure of my arms crossing in my sleep.  I have random days were there are minutes of blurry vision I for no reason.  I already said it, but I’m always tired.  Last week I napped every day and still felt exhausted.  My blood levels are still normal and so there’s no documented “reason” for any of it, other than lingering effects of a long battle with Covid-19.

I still have healing left to do, but I am so thankful that I am where I am after what feels like an eternity.

However, last week, after months of battling, because my cough was finally considered to be gone, I was able to go into the hospital and donate convalescent plasma.  I was nervous that day because I haven’t been inside a medical facility without a fever in months.  My heart rate was always way too high, and so was my blood pressure, and I was not sure if I would pass the vitals check that day.  Thanks to the beta blocker, I was able.

It was going well, but about halfway through, the needle pierced through both sides of my vein. There was an instant bubble and blood leaking, and I had to stop early.  I was able to fill a few bags almost halfway, which is better than nothing at all.   I am still recovering with quite an unsightly bruise with some swelling and pain, but I will gladly do it again if and when I’m able.

I had said from the beginning of my battle, I just hoped something good would come from my journey.  I wanted to bring hope.  And now that I am closer to healed than months before, I am hopefully able to take my fight with the taunt of death and give someone the hope for life.

Finally, beauty from the ashes.

It's great to be eight.

 Dear Ollie Bear,

Here we are, again.  I feel like this birthday came so quickly this year.  I believe it’s because the last six months were a lotta bit crazy.

Here we are, regardless.  Tonight is your last night being seven years old.  “It’s great to almost be eight,” you told me tonight.  I presume tomorrow morning, it will be “great to BE eight” for real.  Eight years ago this evening, 12 days after your due date, I was not-so-patiently waiting for you to be placed in my arms after being induced in the afternoon.  You came after midnight, with your umbilical cord tied in a stacked-double knot.  I think I say that every year, as it is a fact and an image that will forever be burned in my mind.   You’ve been a resilient little miracle from the beginning, you know.

Oh, my dearest Collin, this year was one for the books.  Over the course of the last year, you have grown immensely, not only in stature, finally breaching four feet tall, but emotionally and socially as well.  Despite your first-grade school year being cut short, meaning that your time in the classroom with your absolutely phenomenal blessing of a teacher came to a close earlier than any of us wanted, you finished first grade filled to the brim with knowledge and beaming with pride.  I was beaming with pride right alongside you.  You have approached the second grade school year, just two school days ago, with confidence and calm, despite a chaotic world around you.

I have to admit, little man, I am incredibly proud of you.  I have seen you transform right before my eyes in ways I find it hard to describe.  While you still have a firecracker spirit, your reservoir of calm has begun deepening in your spirit.  You have grown in your ability to pause before reacting, and although it’s never perfect for anyone, you’ve grown leaps and bounds in your impulse control.  Just recently, a teacher at daycare boasted to me with pride in her voice about how another boy hit you for seemingly no reason, and instead of being upset, lashing out, or getting even, you simply told him it was not okay and you walked away.  You even told her about how you were going to give the boy another chance to play with you soon, because he could be a good friend.  I had tears in my eyes hearing the story.  

As you have been all of your years, you are such a caring boy.  You have a gentleness in your soul that shines brilliantly with younger children.  You have loved babies for as long as I can remember, but you’ve also come to love toddlers, taking little ones by the hand and playing with them, just because you can.  You have done the same with preschool aged children as well.  You are really maturing in your relationships.  I know there’s still growth to be gained upon and progress to be made, but you have come so very far from the struggles you used to have.  I am excited to see what the coming year brings.

The level at which you read amazes me, as well as the speed at which you pick up knowledge, even, or especially when, it seems like you’re not paying any attention at all.  The amount of information in your brain must be coming up close to an encyclopedia worth, I am fairly certain.  

Your sense of humor brings me such joy.  You are such a funny guy.  I love the witty little things you say and the ease at which you say them.  I think we are similar in that way.  You keep me laughing and smiling, even on hard days where we struggle.  You’re also clever in your problem solving, which is sometimes quite comical as well.

I covet your hugs. You have always been one to hug with such energy.  It’s like your love just has to be shared.  

I love that your getting bigger, but in some ways you still remind me so much of how you’re little.  You still adore dinosaurs and playing in water.  You love to read.  You also have grown to love video games, and are becoming quite good at playing them with your brother which is a little new to me still.  In that way, you’re growing up to be a big kid, I know.

I realize this year, as it was for your sister’s birthday, is one unlike any other.  Fortunately for you, we are no longer in covid-19 isolation, so your birthday, unlike your sisters, can be spent with people outside our walls.  However, this pandemic has changed some things about the way in which we can celebrate.  It makes my momma heart sad to know that I cannot come have birthday lunch with you at school.  I hope tomorrow, you enjoy the little surprises and funny card I sneak into your lunch box.  I hope that your friends enjoy the suckers we are sending, instead of cupcakes or other non-individually wrapped treats.  I know that hugs are probably going to be more scarce this year due to social distancing, but I hope you can still feel the love and celebration of others around you.  I hope you can begin to understand the great joy you bring to others’ lives.

Oh, Ollie, this year I pray that you continue to grow in patience and calm, that your impulses continue to be easier to control, and that you are able to embrace your emotions in a healthy way.  Emotions are a gift from God, you know.  They’re good to have. 

I pray that you make dear, lasting friendships.  I pray that you see your immeasurable value in this world, on a large scale, but also in the smaller scale. I pray you realize you carry light, joy, and love with you wherever you go.  I pray that you never feel discouraged, or if you do, to realize that you’re a warrior, and overcomer, brave, and worthy.  

I pray that every day you find reasons to smile, to laugh, to run and play.  

I pray that you never doubt that you are loved.

I pray you feel God with you every single day, and see Jesus alongside every step you take.

I pray that you always know what a resilient little miracle you are.

I pray you always know that your brother and sister are in your corner and they love you with all of their hearts.

Sweet boy, I am so thankful God placed you in my arms at 2:11am, nearly eight years ago.  I am so blessed to be your momma.  You make me a stronger, kinder, more patient woman.  You teach me so much about unconditional love.  

You are, alongside your siblings, my greatest treasure.  

You’re the best things that ever happened to me.  I am so glad that you’re mine.  I will tell you that, every night we have together, as long as I am able.

Happy birthday, in the morning, Collin.

I love you,

Mom

Begin Again

 This year, as we are all aware, has been one unlike any other.  That sounds so cliche because every year is different, but with an on-going pandemic still taunting our lives, there have been so many events we have never faced before.

The school year is no different.  In-person learning, locally, ended abruptly in March right about the time that I came down with covid-19.   The week I awaited my test results and gradually became sicker, we attempted the distance learning model at home.  When I became so sick I could hardly breathe sitting still, let alone walk around the apartment or deal with school work, we quit for multiple weeks.  

The children never went back to their classrooms again, not even to pick up school supplies.  Everything was handled outside the school building.  Playgrounds and parks were closed.  Swimming pools never opened.  The summer was also, one we had never experienced before.  As I have still been dealing with lasting effects of a six week fever from covid-19 and subsequent pneumonia, then a break and two weeks fighting off bronchitis, I have worked very little at my job, and we have been at home more than we have since I was a stay-at-home-mom six years ago.

What simultaneously seemed like suddenly and also ages later, the school year approached.  

Locally, the decision was made for the kiddos at our elementary school to have two separate first days, divided alphabetically.  That meant that my littles had their first day back inside the school building this past Friday.

They had been excited, nervous, anxious, and occasionally dreaded going back.  There were so many changes happening this year.  Masks are expected for students and faculty, and although not mandatory, we are told that if your child doesn’t wear a mask, they’ll be repeatedly asked to put one on, questioned, and parents may be contacted.  (Side note: this is not a mask debate, so please do not start one.). Each of my children’s classes will be eating lunch in their classrooms this year.  The playground has been divided into sections, and none of the classrooms in each grade level are permitted to play together during recess.  Visitors are restricted.  The sick policy is very stringent... so forth and so on.

So, when we prepared for school to begin, there was a lot to process.  Truthfully, having survived the virus, although it’s still causing me issues, my children and I have looked the potential fatality of it straight in the face and come out the other side, so I haven’t felt worried or anxious about sending my children to school. I know the risks involved, and I’ve heard all sides of the debates going on.  It was the right choice for my family for my children to return to school.

The first day of school for my children was riddled with initial excitement, some grumpiness, a little rain, a little sunshine, typical first day photos, and a fun new addition in that they were able to take a photo with their future step-sister, who also started the same day, and is now going to the same school they are.  As we walked to the school, knowing that unlike years past, we could not wait together on the playground, and children could not play on the playground before school, their nerves started rising slightly.  As we approached the doors they will enter this year and pulled up their masks over their noses, both boys hugged me and walked in with slight-to-no-hesitation.  Their sister was a different story.  She cried and clung to momma as hard as she could, eventually taking the hand of a friend and going inside.

I cried as I walked away.  It was not tears of fear or anxiety.  It was tears of letting go, tears of change, tears of momma-hood.

I was fortunate to pick them up for daycare myself, and each ran out of the school with a smile.  We talked about the days and they all reported that the first day was good.  The only complaint came from the middle kiddo.  There’s a nut allergy in his classroom and because they are eating inside the classroom, this year he cannot have peanut butter or Nutella, which is his favorite sandwich combination.  After researching and connecting with the proper faculty, we decided on Wow-butter and jelly as an alternative.  I sampled it and thought it tasted nearly identical.  I did not tell him about the swap because I was sure that if I did he wouldn’t give the sandwich a chance.

The report, his day was “good but there was something wrong with the sandwich at lunch.”  He took two bites and declared that to his classroom.  I tried it again today with more jelly.  We shall see what the report is.  He knows the science behind acquiring a taste for new foods, because he’s told me all about it before.  Somehow, the boys seem to think that it doesn’t apply to them personally however.  

Today was the second day of school.  Due to a light work schedule this week, I am able to walk them to their doors again.  This morning went more breezily, and there were less tears from the little miss.  There was more sunshine in the sky and less supplies in the backpacks.  There were still masks on the faces, but bigger smiles in the eyes.  Hopefully, there will be less wow-butter sandwich left in the box.

Once Upon a Lifetime Ago

Once upon a lifetime ago, on August 5, 2006, a bright-eyed, creative, social justice seeking young lady married the man she dreamed of for as long as she could remember, a kind, caring, hard-working, musical and charming young man.

Their friendship had blossomed and deepened quickly, and grew into a deep love for one another, and on that hot summer’s day, in front of family and dear friends, they pledged their lives to one another.

Now, as we know, sometimes forever doesn’t last that long, at least not when humans are in charge.  As is the case more often than we would wish, “Come What May” faded and the fairy tale took a turn that two devoted love birds would never imagine possible, and the union between those two was severed.

I was the young lady in this story.

It’s been over four years now since my divorce was final.  As many know, the divorce did not come easy, and it was actually something I had to work very hard to be granted, for multiple reasons.  It was never anything I really wanted, but it was something I had to have.  Throughout the past six years, actually a little more, life has been a rollercoaster of occasionally unbelievable variety.

Here we are, 14 years after my wedding day.  After separating from my former husband, and especially after the divorce, I sit and wonder, each year, on this day, if it’s something I should acknowledge, publicly or privately.  It’s not an anniversary of continued marriage commitment, but yet, it is an anniversary of a huge life milestone.

I decided, this year, I will acknowledge it, publicly.

It is a big deal.

That love shaped me into a kind, devoted woman.  That love battled infertility to allow me to be a mother.  That love created innumerable memories, both good and bad.  That marriage shaped my life.  In the good times and the bad times, it molded me into a strong, brave, compassionate, woman full of faith in God.

Now that my youngest, my daughter, is six, and her father is in a new relationship with a woman he loves, a woman I am quite fond of as well, my little girl has a lot of questions about love and marriage.  She thinks kissing is gross, but she knows once upon a lifetime ago, I used to kiss her dad. She knows her dad kisses someone new now.  She thinks both situations are yucky.  Oh, I love how innocent she is.

In this new season of life, the kids all three talk about marriage and divorce more than they ever had in the past.

This year, on the anniversary of my wedding, I decided I will do something I have never done before with my children.

I will talk about my wedding day.

I will show them photos.

I will let them ask questions.

I will remember the day for the beautiful celebration that it was.

Being the sentimental and emotional woman that I am, someday I will also show them my wedding dress, if they’d like.  It currently is stored with my sister-in-law.  I believe my wedding rings are there too.  I saved both in the event that my daughter, especially, would like to see them.  I did not know then whether her dad would ever be in her life again, because for most of it, he really wasn’t, but I wanted her to know that she was created by love, out of the dreams her mom and dad once had together.  I have a shadow box their dad made me with my bouquet, our vows and my jewelry, which is stored with a dear friend, that perhaps someday I will desire to get back and share with them.  I just don’t know.

But what I do know now is that this year, I think it’s okay to open up those memories for my children.  I will let them see the joy in our faces as we became man and wife.  I will let my daughter marvel over my pretty white dress.   I will let them create their own memory in their minds of what could have happened that day, and let them know that it’s okay to talk about the joy that led up to their lives, even if that marriage no longer exists.  I will celebrate that lifetime ago that began their journey.        I will remind them (and myself) that even though happily ever after did not turn out the way we imagined, because God is SO GOOD, we have a happily ever after that we can love to live this way too.

(And what’s an anniversary without a wedding photo?  Here’s one of my very favorites of that day.)

I am okay.

I am okay now.

It took me quite a while to get here, though.

If you aren’t my friend on Facebook, you might not know, but on March 31, I was sent home to isolate from the world.  I had ended up in the emergency room after helping my three littles with their distance learning, after the schools all shut down.  I thought there was a possibility I was going to have a heart attack. 

I had to test for Covid-19, which at the time, seemed crazy to me.  After the test, I was sent home to wait on the results.  They told me in approximately 3-5 days, I should know, and best case scenario was that I did not test positive and I could go back to “regular” life when that result came.

I had no idea how sick I was going to be.  I barely had a cough at that time, and my temperature was 100.1 and I had no idea.  I felt fine, nothing unusual from the colds I so often seem to get.

As the week went on, I slowly started feeling more yucky, and like I had bronchitis or something.  I was sure it was not coronavirus.  I hardly left the house and did as much as I thought I could to prevent possibly catching it.

I tested positive for Covid-19.  I received the phone call that Friday.

By then, I was surprised, but also not surprised.  By that point, I definitely didn’t feel well.

I spent the next EIGHT WEEKS battling Covid-19, and then pneumonia as a result of it.  I am still battling a cough, though every day it’s less and less frequent and forceful.  

Those eight weeks are both a blur but also burned into my soul.

I am not going to get into all of the physical symptoms I dealt with, although there were multiple days and nights I was unsure if I was going to be able to battle it at home.  

On June 1, the children and I were finally released from our isolation.  While this was an extremely joyous and welcome release, it turns out, it was also the trigger for emotional and mental turmoil I did not realize I was suffering from.  

It was this really weird feeling like the world had collectively been through this pandemic, all sorts of changes and restrictions, and world being turned upside down and closed off for weeks. I knew and understood it but did not relate. Similarly, I had been through the pandemic but personally through an intense period of illness, breathlessness, struggle internally and externally, feeling like a failure as a mom unable to care for my kids as I knew I should, trying to balance my fear of them getting sick if I was around them with the fear of their hearts being sick if I wasn't around them, being isolated with no one to call on physically for assistance in the home, solitude and feeling like my struggles were unrelatable. I was part of the world but displaced from it. Being released felt like being let loose into a place I no longer really fit into or understood.  It also timed perfectly that my "release" occured at the moment the country was quite literally on fire with civil unrest and I did not know how to process it. 

Finally, I was going to be able to go back to work, the job I’ve had for five years, a job I LOVE, with people I LOVE.  

But as soon as I saw my name on the work schedule, my heart started racing and I felt sick to my stomach.  I wanted to be there, so it did not make sense to me that I would be having this physical aversion.  The thoughts started swirling and tears started falling as I realized all the ways things have changed there- children in new rooms, different staff, new policies, art taken off the walls, and new paint.  They all sound so trivial.  I told myself it was just me overthinking things. 

I went to work on Monday.  As soon as we walked to the door, the kids pointed out a poster on the wall talking all about Covid-19 and instantly a wall went up around my soul.  I could hardly make eye contact with my dearest coworker, who I trust with everything.  She’s seen me through so many traumas and heartaches, trials, tribulations, breakthroughs, and joy in five years.  But I could hardly form words.  

I just kept telling myself I did NOT want to cry.  I am a crier, as much as I hate it, and I was doing everything, consciously and subconsciously, to avoid tears.   I went to the grocery store and was completely overwhelmed when I couldn’t find the apples from where I was standing and all of the weird dots and arrows on the floor did not make sense in my mind for any route I would have taken under normal circumstances.  By Tuesday night, I realized the self-sabotage of that wall, and fought off so many negative thoughts toward myself of stupidity and embarrassment.  

Throughout the week following being at work, I realized just how messy my spirit was feeling.  I spoke and wrote the words to more than one person that “my faith is okay, but my mind is a mess.”  I knew that God would see me through this next leg of the journey, but at any given moment, I just didn’t feel okay.

I tried to trivialize it within myself.  I told myself I didn’t have it THAT bad with Covid-19 and pneumonia.  I never did end up in the hospital on a ventilator.  I played down the severity and refused to use the word “trauma” to describe my situation.  I was just sick, and I had been sick before.

The more I thought about it, and the more my emotions kept creeping up (no matter how hard I tried to push them down), I was able to begin to put them to words.  A few close friends suggested possible things like PTSD related symptoms or moral trauma.  They were able to pinpoint emotions and things I had taken on before I even could.  They were able to point out so many ways my heart and spirit were injured or affected by the two long months.  They were spot on and I could not argue, just embrace the insight being given to me.

I am broken.  I am hurting.

But I am okay.  

I am broken BUT I AM HEALED. I am hurting BUT I AM COMFORTED.

All at the same time.

It’s interesting, isn’t it, how Jesus makes it possible to be both.   We are earth-side but we are eternal.  He understands and sees our pain but he counters it with his life.

Last night, I expressed to my friend that I was unsure I was brave enough to go to my actual, physical church building and experience the service live today.  She asked if it was fear.

I realized it was.

So I asked what God could give me to replace the fear I was trying so hard to give up to Him.

I heard the word “assurance.”  I did a quick google search for that word in the Bible and the verse that struck me was 2 Chronicles 20:17 “You won’t have to lift a hand in this battle; just stand firm, Judah and Jerusalem, and watch God’s saving work for you take shape. Don’t be afraid, don’t waver. March out boldly tomorrow- God is with you.”

This morning, I woke up, and immediately my heart was racing.  I was feeling anxious.  

I put on my best “brave” which felt so weak and uncertain, and drove to church. I sat in the parking lot, feeling overwhelmed.   

I remembered the verse and I went in.

I was embraced by a hug and instantly started crying.  I received another hug and was holding my composure fairly well, and went to sit down.  I felt like I was going to burst at the seams so I left and came back again.  Then I sat there, just trying to breathe through all of the anxiousness I was feeling. I didn’t want to cough, even though I know I’m not contagious anymore according to the Department of Health, but I did not want to scare anyone.  I did not know if I was sitting too close to people.  I knew if I started crying I would start coughing and did not want to make a scene or stress anyone out.

Well, as God would have it, I cried all the way through worship. 

Then the message was about overcoming- the first half was about the healing of one’s mind.

I realized that God had led me to where I needed to be.  No, He pushed me where I needed to be, into uncomfortable waters, so he could calm and restore.  

After the service, I let him pull me forward for personal prayer.  Step-by-step, my trusted friend led me through breaking off so many layers of chains that had wrapped around my spirit.   When I couldn’t think of words, she helped me.  I tore off guilt, shame, fear, anxiousness, unworthiness, loneliness, and so, so much more.  

I don’t remember each layer.

I remember there were many.  I remember I shook and I sobbed and I told her how I felt like I had been imprisoned in my home, and felt burdened like I was wrapped in chain mail.  And now that I was “free” I felt out of place where the freedom was being given back to me.  Where I first felt imprisioned and alone, I had begun to find my “comfort,” and the freedom overwhelmed every part of me. 

When the breaking off was done, the filling began, and I remembered who I really am. I could see her again.  I am okay.  The healing has begun.  I feel better.

She hugged me, and I was not afraid or nervous for the first time in two months.  I realized that even though I had been given hugs from my children, and then a few after being let out of my apartment, they were always tainted with the fear of harming others or making them sick.   They were tinged with the fear of  “death.”  

This hug was not like that.  This hug was filled with hope and life.

And I was able to walk out of that sanctuary without the weight of the world on my shoulders.  I had a real smile.  I was able to make eye contact with people who loved me.  I received more hugs.  I cried good, healing, releasing tears.

I did not get a chance to talk to everyone who prayed for me or loved me through these months, and I was feeling a little overwhelmed again, not negatively this time, but just in the way that I had been through a whirlwind and I was getting tired.  

I had to go back to the grocery store before coming home.  I walked in and I felt okay.  I did not cry.  

I came home and prayed again.  I turned church back on, and continue to listen to the message again as I write this story.  

God has me.

I’ve known it all along.

But I kicked that wall down this morning and I now I feel it.

I know, realistically, there are still triggers out there I am going to face.  I know that there may be struggles.  I know that I am human and I may falter and stumble still.  I know that the enemy is going to continue his pursuit of me.

I’m thankful though, that today, I can see more clearly.  I am thankful that I am comfortable again with being honest and open about how I really am.  I am so thankful that God pushed me where I needed to be today, despite myself, so I could be embraced by His love, through His words to me, and through those He placed beside me who love me. 

I pray that as I continue to face these triggers or thoughts and memories that may come along, I’ll have the strength and openness to keep that wall broken down.

I am finally able to say that this experience was a trauma.  I say it without quotations marks to downplay it.  It was a trauma.

However, if there’s one thing that God has shown me, through worship, church, and others alongside my journey, is that I am an overcomer.  He and I will overcome this, too.

Unrecommended

I am just going to be completely honest here, and here's the forewarning- it's going to sound like a pity party even though it's not really meant that way. No pity, please. 

If you know me well, though, you know that writing out my thoughts is therapeutic (as in I have kept journals, written poetry, blogs, letters, notes... For as long as I can recall). I don't really want to unload this on my children, because they're children, and there are no adults here. And when I talk about emotional things I start crying and get snot faced, and when I'm sick, I cry and cough and gag and it's a mess. I also get pretty tongue tied and mix up nouns for no reason sometimes... So... Writing it is. I've prayed and cried it all out to God, but there's just something about writing to also help me process, and I often tell myself there might be someone out there struggling to pinpoint their own thoughts or feelings that may resonate with what I say.

But truthfully, I feel bad considering writing this, and even worse actually doing so, because my life is not nearly as difficult as countless others out there and I'm so very fortunate in so very many ways that it feels like I should just silence my thoughts and be simply grateful for the life that I have. I AM grateful for the life that I have, and for the countless blessings bestowed upon me and my children during this stressful time.

But yet, here's how I feel...

This past month has sucked- not all of the moments, but overall, it's been wretched and I want to just curl up in a ball in my bed and sleep for a few days because every part of my body, my mind, my spirit, my emotions, and my ambition is exhausted.  I used to tell the kids not to say "sucks" or forms of it, but during this isolation time, I agreed it was an acceptable description of the circumstances.  I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired while being a mom.

In the past, when I've gotten really sick, I've still been a mom, and really in those times the only parent around. This time is different in that their dad came back to their lives, but it's still very similar in that basically, because of the circumstances surrounding the Covid-19 pandemic, I'm the only parent around. They live with me and therefore they are considered contagious or potentially so, and they've had to quarantine with me while I have been "isolating" for a month.  And, since I can't "isolate" myself from them because they're not self-sufficient (or cannot be trusted) even when I'm finally better, they're supposed to be quarantined here. I feel absolutely terrible, guilty, ashamed, angry, and sad for their little hearts having to have not only been stuck here in this apartment for over 30 days now, but with a mom who is sick and tired of being sick and tired, who has little energy or ambition, and less patience than normal, although every effort is made for patience, grace, and mercy.  The only upside is that when I'm finally feeling better, at least I will hopefully be able to provide more enjoyment for them during this time than I currently have been, though goodness knows I've tried. 

I feel like I try so hard. I push to play games, listen to their stories, anecdotes, ramblings, and songs, cuddle, do creative things, watch movies, cook, and enjoy each other. I try so hard to be persistent and encouraging with the distance learning for school, which it seems, no matter what, ends in tears for at least half of us on a daily basis because the environment right now is not conducive to actual learning and it feels like  a chore or punishment to work through in such an array of distracting situations.  I feel like I fall short from their expectations or hopes though, and that slays me. 

• I know I'm not alone in my feelings, I just haven't had a homework assignment telling me to write about it yet.

In times past, when I've gotten sick, even though their dad was MIA, sometimes the boys could go to school, Norah could go to daycare, or friends or family could take them to church, or on a date, or hang out with them so I could rest. 

This time, that has all basically been stripped away because of coronavirus. 

So there's the diagnosis and the insanely long recovery time that I was finally working through, and then pneumonia hit me and set me back to basically square one. And while that's not an illness that would itself cause this isolation to continue... It's all wrapped up in the coronavirus pandemic. 

I worry my kids are suffering because of this. I know they're technically fine, and I know they know I don't feel well. Some days I had been doing better than others, and it has been such a rollercoaster all along, I feel like it's so hard for them to understand or anticipate and it's incredibly frustrating for them. It has to be, because it is for me. 

This month-long illness for me has been one unlike any other.  I cannot even fathom what it would be like to be a single parent with a terminal illness and it breaks my heart so heavily to think that there are people out there who have that reality as their life story. 

The doctors and advice all say to rest and not stress... And it just feels impossible when you're the only parent of three children in the home. 

528 out of 10 : I do not recommend getting sick when it means the world shuts down around you and locks you away like it does during the covid-19 pandemic. I do not hold strong opinions one way or another on the way the government and population are approaching things, because I see many facets of thinking and how many options are simultaneously good and not so good. 

I don't understand why this has happened. I do know that, just like every other difficult, overwhelming, exhausting, or traumatic thing we have been through in the last 7 or so years, we will come out declaring that God is still good (because He is). I am just... a beautiful mess singing a broken hallelujah, I suppose. 

Sorry, that was heavy and long. 

Thankfully, while I was writing this, worship music and prayers playing in the background gave me the press I need to carry on and try to tackle this day too. 

Special thank you to anyone who has prayed over us during this time, sent mail, texts or other messages, brought groceries or meals, helped us stay afloat, and so much more. I can't even imagine how much more difficult this would have been without you.