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.

This morning a lifetime ago

It was barely past midnight this morning when I felt the ground give way beneath my feet and the air I tried to breathe suffocate my airways as I heaved violent sobs in the dark of the night. Up until this point, she had always been there as a pillar and a safe place.

It was so early this morning, a horrible ending to one day and the devastating beginning of another.

It was ten years ago.

It feels like this morning.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

She waited until we all left and she breathed her final breath, and in the quiet of her hospital room, my grandma passed away.

I miss her still, every single day.

The ground has given way a few times since then, and still she is gone. Her arms aren't waiting for me in a loving embrace. Her ear isn't there to listen when I cry.

But she didn't leave me completely:

The prayers she must have prayed unceasingly have come to fruition, as I have God at my side, and Godly people in my life who can help stand in where she used to be. 

I wonder though. I can't help but wonder.

Would she be proud? Would she think I'm extraordinary? Would she think I'm brave? Would she think I exhibit grace?

Somehow she's gone and her opinion still matters.

So much has happened in the 10 years since she was laid in the freezing cold ground as I crumbled in the wind. The ground is frozen again. But in a weird way, as I sit here missing her so, I feel comfort knowing she's safe inside the very ground I stand on, while residing up in the heavenlies with the Jesus she loved so much. Her love is written permanently on my wrist, her ring on my finger, her voice in my head, and her warm brown eyes staring up at me through my beautiful young daughter. 

I ache. I pine. I cry. But I find rest, I find peace, finally, ten years later, realizing she's still so close by.

A Healed Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is a big deal to my heart, and has been for a long time.  It's a family, love, and gratitude focused holiday that I've always adored.

Thanksgiving this year was a bigger deal than I realized.

A year ago at Thanksgiving, I was still married to a man who had gone MIA.  I was brokenhearted, on the verge of feeling defeat, feeling a bit like a failure, feeling lonely, feeling anxious, and feeling a bit out of place in my own world.

The children and I were invited to Thanksgiving dinner with our friends and some of their family.  I accepted, knowing that my friend knew my heart and emotional state quite well, knowing I would feel safe, and that my children would have fun.  Still, I was nervous, not knowing how the others at dinner would approach the fact that he was not with us this time, as he had been months before when we were over for Easter.  I was cautiously optimistic that no one would ask a single question or even mention his absence in our lives.  The day, as far as I remember, was wonderful, filled with joy and laughter, friends and great food.

But I missed him.  I felt like our family was incomplete in some way.  I came home that evening, without my kids, I believe, and cried as I realized I went the day without him and made it through.  I longed for the vision of life that I had thought we were creating.

I spent a little bit of time over the past few weeks in prayer, trying to prepare myself emotionally and mentally for what this year might be like, whether the children and I were home alone celebrating in solitary fashion, or if we were fortunate enough to be surrounded by people we cherish somewhere.  I knew in my heart I would be emotionally and mentally okay if we were going to be celebrating alone, although I hoped we wouldn't be.  It wouldn't have been devastating though, like I may have felt it would have last year.

This year, he's still missing, and I am divorced.  This year, we were invited to the same family home for Thanksgiving dinner.  I've not been feeling well, so I was a bit quiet this year amidst all the hustle and bustle, but I felt at home anyway.  My friend still knows me well, and I know her family accepts me and my children for who we are, as we are, how we are, even without him.

When the children and I arrived home tonight, they were all fast asleep in the van, and I sat there for a bit, realizing that it was my first Thanksgiving as a divorced, single mother.

I didn't cry.  I didn't even emotionally flinch.

I then realized that I didn't miss him at all today.

This year, he was mentioned.  We discussed how the son who used to look so much like him looks less like him this year, and how my other son looks much more like him now.  I talked about how some of their mannerisms are very much like their dad.  I mused over how my daughter doesn't have close attachments to men, except my friend's husband, my dad, my brother-in-law, and she's somewhat close to a co-worker and her uncles.  But she's never felt a relationship with a dad that she would remember, and it affects her, somewhat, I think.

I was even asked by one of the family members if I would ever consider remarriage or having children in the future if "the right guy" came along.  I didn't freak out or withdraw really, although I was completely taken aback, I didn't act like it.

I didn't cry.

I didn't miss him.  Not like I used to.  I mostly miss him on behalf of my kids, and I feel sorry for him missing out on them.

But I didn't hinder me.

It didn't overwhelm me.

It didn't cause me anxiousness or nervousness.  I didn't even think about him before going.  I didn't sit and wonder if anyone would ask about him or mention him or worry about how I would react if it happened.

That's a lot of healed wounds.

Thank you, Jesus.

If it weren't for the Cleansing Stream retreat less than a month ago, I am sure I would be in a different emotional state tonight.

But I'm okay.

The kids and I are okay.

I don't long for him to love us.  I don't feel like we are missing out on his love.  I know we are, realistically, but I don't feel that soul-crushing overwhelming longing that was there a year ago.

Because we don't need his love.  It would be nice, but it's not a necessity.

We have God's love, first and foremost, and because of His love, we are loved deeply by many others.  It's obvious to me that we are loved more deeply by others in our lives than we could be by him at this point anyway.  My children are lacking their dad, but they're not lacking their Father's love; they're not lacking love at all.  Today, they were surrounded by love, like they are every day.

Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, to me, are especially important emotional holidays.  They flood my heart with appreciation for God, family, friends, love, memories, laughter, and companionship.

For the last 15 years, up until this year, a huge portion of all of those holidays were invested in him- even the last two, when we was sort of here and then not here at all.

This year, that chain is broken.

This year, I see so much more clearly the love that we are showered with.  I saw it last year through clouded lenses.  This year, it's more real.

I can see so much more clearly this year that I am not alone.  I wondered a few days ago, while the enemy was after my mind, that I would be alone eternally, spending holidays without adult cameraderie, huddled up with my children, forgotten by the world, because I was just a pity case or that people were sick of the burden I am, wishing for interaction aside from only children (I know that sounds horrible, and I love my children dearly, so please don't assume I hate spending time with them).

But that's just crazy. I have family, and friends that are family, and friends beyond that who love us so much.

I am not alone.  We are not alone.  And God wouldn't allow us to go through this life alone anyway.  I get reminded of that on the regular.  Sometimes, I just get in my own way of seeing it.

Thank you to the many friends and family who have sent me messages of love, empowerment, gratitude, prayer, and blessings.  Your love is deeply felt and appreciated more than I find myself able to express at this time.

Retreated and Transformed

The Cleansing Stream...

I approached it.  I waded into it. I walked through it.

I was hesitant.  I was nervous.  I was excited.  I was leery.  I was determined.

There's no turning back now.

This stream, though... What is it?

It's a Life Group through the church the children and I became members of after our world was turned upside down.  It's a healing ministry by nature, filled with lessons and group discussions, as well as a full day retreat.

I really was skeptical.

I've been a Christian my entire memorable life, though I have felt closer to God sometimes and very distant others.  I went to a parochial school in kindergarten and first grade.  I continued growing in my understanding and love for Jesus afterward, mostly going to church with my grandma.  I loved going to church with my grandma.  I was confirmed in a Lutheran church back in my hometown.  I made a friend from another town in high school that introduced me to McPrayer (at McDonald's on Friday mornings before school) which I attended a few times, and fell in love with another friend from that town who was also self-proclaimed "on fire for Jesus."  I became a part of their entire family, and grew even more in my faith alongside them, through table prayers, Bible Studies, trips to Sonshine Music Festival, jamming to Christian radio, and so forth.  I attended a Christian college for two years, worked as a counselor and daycamp director at a Lutheran Bible camp for two summers, did youth lock-ins with a college outreach group, attended Bible studies there, and what not.  I switched to a State University to pursue my Bachelor's Degree, but continued my love for God as my relationship with the aforementioned man deepened.  We were married in a non-denominational church, making a covenant to each other, with God, to never separate in this lifetime and to live our lives for God, growing our family in that way as well.  As our children came into this world, we found the church that we attended for five years, until, as I said, the world flipped upside down.

When he up and abandoned us, it was hard to go back to our home church.  The kids were looking for him constantly and he stopped showing up.  I visited our current church, the Church at the Gate, one Sunday morning, and we just never really left.

Through my job at the church daycare, I made a dear friend, one who also attends this church, and she introduced me to this thing called Cleansing Stream.

As I said, I was skeptical.  I have read the Bible (maybe not cover to cover yet, but the majority of it) and I know that Jesus is all about healing.  I've read that we are to be healers as well, and that we have authority to do so in His name.  I know that we are called to pursue the Fruits of the Spirit, and there are so many blessings and promises made to those who seek and love Him.  I know it in theory.  But I have, for as long as I can remember, been skeptical.

For this, I have apologized to God.

Anyway, this ministry was brought up multiple times over the course of the last year and a half or so. I listened and told myself, "well, maybe someday, maybe."  It is offered twice a year, and the last time it didn't work out for me because I was a part of a parenting Life Group.  So, when my friend brought it up again this fall, it worked out scheduling wise, and I couldn't come up with a solid good excuse not to sign up.  So, in faith, I registered.

The DVDs are interesting, thought provoking, and insightful.  Discussion is great to relate to others in the group, as well as to gain more perspective toward your own journey.

But this retreat... this thing I spent my day doing... it was intense.

Truthfully, when my friend would bring up how awesome this retreat was going to be, I was withdraw a little sometimes.  Other times, I would get nervous.  On a few occasions, I would be excited.  She was thoroughly excited about it and believed wonderful things would come for me when I went, but I really did dally back and forth among the multiple responses.

Last night, I was getting ready, mentally, before bed, and nerves set in.  I went to bed, and was very restless in my sleep all night long.  Every time I would stir, I would hear myself saying "seriously, I'm going to be so tired in the morning at this rate, I'm not going to want to go."  I had my sister-in-law set to spend the day with the kids, and when the alarm went off this morning, I really didn't want to get out of bed.  I knew that would happen, so I made myself get up out of bed, shower, and get my body out that door.

As soon as I arrived at church, I was greeted by members of my group and had discussions with them where I detailed my night and how I knew that because I didn't want to go, I knew I needed to come.  They had been through it before and they agreed.

When I entered the sanctuary, I was greeted by a line of church members and friends who each gave me a hug as I found myself a chair.  Truthfully, I've not been much of a hugger the past few years, because of wounds from my marriage largely, so this was a big step for me, allowing these hugs and embracing them, uninhibitedly, in response.

Worship began and every single song we sang was perfect.  My sinuses have been giving me issues for over a week now and my voice has been goofy, but I sang away, feeling peace come over me, knowing that I was going to be okay, no matter what happened today.

The lessons began, and thoughts started flooding.  Negative talk and lies from the enemy, combated by truth from the Father.  After each section, we prayed against lies and bondages, were blessed, renounced strongholds, fears, and so much more.

The first time, wouldn't you know, it lined up perfectly where my prayer warrior was my friend- the one who introduced me to the Stream in the first place.  I was actually quite a bit relieved because there's only been one other time at church that I've really allowed someone else to pray for me (and she was actually right praying, too), so it seemed like a familiar way into unfamiliar territory.

As I started to approach her, my heart started racing and I became unsteady in my own foot work.  She asked me if I was ready.  I don't think I said a word, but she knows me well, and we began.  The tears began falling as we prayed through some bondages and lies.  The leader of the retreat joined and added in.  My head was spinning and my hands were trembling, my eyes pouring tears.  We prayed and prayed.  And I felt release.  Then my hands stopped shaking, my heart went back to normal, my breathing steadied, and I opened my eyes.  I received another hug, perhaps the biggest one I had received in weeks, and in that moment, I was so overwhelmingly thankful for Jesus and for his bringing her into my life.

As I sat there after, praying and trying to take it all in, writing down words that came to my mind, I felt this surge of strength.

The next section was about rejection, and let me tell you what, I was holding onto way more rejection than I knew.  I knew of the big stuff, the rejection of my former husband (toward both me and my children), but there were others there, too.

We were urged to document some of the instances that lead to the feeling of rejection, and then listen to what Truth God had to say in the matter.

"I chose you, before you were born. I wanted you.  I brought you here for a reason.  I love you want I want you.  I also chose your children for you.  You four are Mine. We are all on the same team.  We are FOR one another."

When it was my turn to receive prayer again, I found myself in front of a kind man that I had never met before, who happened to have the same first name as one of my sons.  I noticed right away and he greeted me openly.  He then asked, in some way or another, what a point of rejection was for me.

Up until this very moment, I have not really told anyone, especially someone I didn't know, in a meaningful situation especially, the huge period of distress that the kids and I had been through.  In almost every step of the journey, if I told anyone at all, friend or family, it was initially in writing.  I am a writer-type-person, and it is exponentially easier for me to pen out my thoughts, emotions, and words than it is for me to swallow the lump in my throat and speak them audibly.

Yet, here I was, tears burning down my cheeks again, and the words came flowing out of my mouth, "Over two years ago, my former husband ditched my three children and I. We ended up homeless.  He found himself a boyfriend, and we haven't heard from him, not one word or text, in almost a year and a half."

He looked directly in my eyes, and told me how huge that was.  He then called the leader over (and instantly, my mind went to "gosh, I am such a mess that he needs to help again already (which I then had to dismiss as a lie))" and told me to tell him what I had just said.  So in less than two minutes, I audibly spoke out the truth to two people I didn't know.

That was huge for me.  We prayed, and prayed, and prayed, and prayed.  I received blessings and hugs and Kleenex and more prayer, and more hugs.  They asked what it was that God had told me, if anything, about it all, and I told them what I had written down.

And then, I felt release.    They told me how powerful that Truth was and how amazing it was.

When I went back to my seat, I repented for believing the lie that I was such a mess.  And then I heard in my mind, "You're NOT a hot mess.  The situation was a mess, but you're exactly who I made you to be, and you are perfect."

Well then.

I then wrote down some words that I thought God was telling me about who I was.  Things like warrior, brave, strong, determined, and so forth.  I then, out of seemingly nowhere, found myself humming to these lyrics, "when my faith gets tired and my hope seems lost, you spin me round and round and remind me of that song, the one You wrote for me, and we dance."  (We Dance by Bethel Music)  I wrote it down, not really knowing where it came from.

We moved onto guilt and shame, and those lies from the enemy, as well as fear. (Parts of the outline are a little muddy tonight and I don't have my workbook near me, but regardless, the meaningful content stands even if the time frame is a little off...)  Following the same pattern, we were prayed with and for.  This time, I found myself in front of another person, a woman I had seen around but didn't know.  This time, I came to the altar in a bit of a different stance I suppose.  We prayed as a group and I let go of most of the guilt and shame for things, and when I prayed with this wonderful woman, she spoke to me, "You're a warrior.  You know that?  You might be a peaceful, quiet warrior, or maybe a loud and boisterous warrior.  Whatever it is, you're a warrior."    We renounced the lies, and by this point, I was crying tears of joy and freedom, strength.  She asked what it was that I thought God was saying, and, in my own vernacular, just like the hot mess thing, it was "This isn't an thing, you know?  I've already got this.  We've conquered it."

She smiled, and said "Jesus is dancing all over you right now, all around you."

That song lyric!  It made sense.

There were more sections and topics throughout the day.  We broke binds from soul ties and the spirit of Death and its influence in various ways over our lives.  I visited each of those three prayer warriors another time.  Tears were shared all over.  It was exhilarating and liberating.  I received multiple hugs from multiple people, and gave multiple hugs to others as well.  It seemed like the fence I had built around my heart was torn down, and I was finally able to give and accepted real, meaningful hugs again.

At the end of it all, there was a time for couples.  And I sat there in my chair doodling, seeing as how I was a single, and not paying much attention to it anyway.  Then a dear friend, sitting beside me, leaned over and said something that really hit home.  She asked me who my spouse was now, like when we were in the parenting group, who is it that's in it with me?  Because I'm not doing this alone.

Jesus.

I started bawling as she helped me through that, and empathized with how I felt being a single mother completely on my own, but not really on my own.  She reminded me of how it's good, even if it's hard, and how it's not really an issue at the same time.  And she hugged me, too.

It's hard to explain how I feel tonight, sitting, reflecting, trying to make it tangible and find a way to explain it.  I wonder if it's something I need to explain, should I explain it?  Should I detail the day?

I think I should.  Because, as I mentioned, it is easier for me to write.

But also, because I was skeptical.

I don't know exactly how I've transformed, and I am sure I won't fully know until I meet my Maker at the end of days.  I know that I have transformed though.  I've laid down so many burdens, broken so many ties, let him heal so many wounds, heard so many truths, and freely cried and overwhelming number of tears in front of people I don't really know (which is another something I get anxious about doing).

As I said in my final prayer, "there's no turning back."

The past, while I've known it to be true and have been working really hard to function with it as truth, is done.  As my prayer warrior said, "It's a cleared history.  Today is a new day, and it is a GREAT day."

I have a renewed sense of hope.  I have a renewed sense of faith and belief.  I feel that I'm not going to fail as being a single mother even if their dad never enters the picture again.  Tonight, when we prayed bedtime prayer, I actually believe what I prayed for him and lead my children to pray for him.  Up until tonight, I prayed it because I should, not because I wanted it to be true.

I know the enemy will come on back, trying to get me to believe lies instead of truth again. It's what he does, and he is dang good at it.  I'm so fortunate my friend has been alongside me to point out when I'm latching onto lies again, and now I have a bigger support system to help me on my journey, and I am now a support system to more people as well. Its a blessing, truly.

I write this also because I need it documented, for me.  So if I ever feel myself slipping into the past, I can come right back and read what God said to me, what my friends and prayer warriors said to me, what I said to the enemy, and what I said to myself, fresh out of the experience.

I truly believe that each and every believer could benefit from Cleansing Stream, as skeptical as you may be.

Go, Team!

I haven't really let on, but the past week has been a struggle for me emotionally. Ever since church, despite my continued efforts at giving myself pep talks, praying, listening to worship music, and talking to a friend, I've been feeling weighed down. I've been feeling kind of oppressed.  I've been feeling a bit defeated.

The parenting struggles have been many, the exhaustion has been exceeding, and the reminders of the life we had for a while are many.  There have been multiple avenues bringing me back, and not as many leading me forward this week.  I know that happens from time to time for everyone, so I haven't been trying to dwell on it much.

But a dear friend pointed out midweek that she could tell, and we talked about it.

Today, we prayed about it together.  She lead me to break off the spirit of defeat that has been weighing me down.  I feel silly admitting the spirit of defeat, because obviously, from outside looking in, I haven't been defeated.

As we prayed and commanded it to go, she reminded me to ask God to fill me up with something to replace the defeat, to speak to me or show me something, and fill me with his love and peace.

Almost as soon as we finished praying, I felt my shoulders rise and my mind felt clearer.

Then, I heard "I know you feel defeated, but I AM undefeated. I AM un-defeat-able."

I sat there, quiet, thinking about it, and feeling myself regain the consciousness that I had been lacking for most of the week, just muddling through each day.

I have never been really into sports.  I collected basketball cards as a child for no reason I can discern as an adult.  I've watched them occasionally, but I've never been a die-hard fan of any sort of sports team.

But here I was, sitting there, hearing God speak to me in sports analogies.  Perhaps it's because my kids like to play ball.  Who knows.

It's been almost 51 weeks exactly since the children and I last saw their dad, or since they had any contact with him whatsoever (despite our efforts to be in contact with him over the weeks).

I felt Him telling me, "You've played these last 51 innings, batting hard.  You've been struggling through them on one team, with half of your team having forfeited already. You've pressed on. You've played hard.  Overtime is done."

I realized that when my former husband and I were raising kids, we went to church, but we didn't really do much more than that in regard to God in our family.  We were our team, and for most of that time, I really was the only one fully invested in outcome.

"You're on my team."  I had goosebumps, chills, and tears.

Of course I am, I thought.  But I felt it again. "You're on MY team."

"I'm the coach.  I'm the quarterback.  I'm the MVP.  I AM. And my team is bigger than yours.  You aren't going at it alone on my team."

Well then.

He's right.  I am on His team. I have been all along. He's been on my side, and I have been on his.  But I haven't fully invested in my draft, because I've been still longing for my old team.  That team that failed me.  And why should I want to play alone, investing in that team, when I have the undefeated champion right alongside me.  He's got it all under control after all.  He defeated death.  

I realized also that, as I have been reminded numerous times by my friend, that we aren't supposed to live life alone.  We don't live life alone.  He gives us people to support us, to play on our team with Him, and to help through each tricky inning.  I know this.  I've known it.

But, apparently, I didn't see it as clearly as I should have, and God had to show me through sports.  Go figure.  I'm an art person.  I married a sports person.  My oldest son is definitely a sports person.

Go, God!  Go, Team!

I didn't cry.

Last night, I was lying in bed, music playing softly in the background, drifting off to sleep...

When I heard it. I heard one of my favorite songs from years back. And my mind automatically went reeling back in time, to a summer a decade or so ago. It was Labor Day weekend. We were sitting beside one another on a picnic table, by a bonfire. There were quite a few others there. He had my guitar and was playing. We had been singing together. 

And then, as a surprise, he started playing. The opening riff immediately stirred overwhelming emotions of joy and love as he played. I was smitten. I knew he loved me...

Last night, I relived it in my mind.

But for the first time in the last 18 months, I wasn't sad. I wasn't longing. I wasn't shattered or stabbed in the heart.

I was content. I was at peace. My mind was whispering to me "I'm so thankful I had that experience, this memory."

Whether or not he really, truly ever loved me, while I like to believe he did, may never be known. But, that day, I believed it fully. I felt it to be completely true. Even if it wasn't, I felt it...

And I am thankful. 

I do long for and miss it. I do, so intensely it takes my breath away sometimes. But, at least, last night, I didn't cry.

I guess the healing is beginning. 

20 years

There are events in nearly each person's life that burn themselves into memory. These events can be major happenings like a first born child, or small things like winning a school-wide handwriting contest in the third grade (yes, I remember both). They can be happy or sad. They can be uplifting or traumatic. It's just how life works.

Dates are sometimes triggers for memories. Songs can be too. I know there are many others, but these are two strong ones for my mind.

Twenty years ago today, I returned home from school just like I did most every other day. But something was off. I had no idea what really, but something was off. A few hours went by until I was given an answer.

"Carissa is missing."

The words still echo.

The news came on at six and verified the nightmare. My two-year-old cousin, who was very much like a baby sister to me, as my cousins and I grew up together as close friends and siblings, disappeared at her family farm. 

I still have my journal entry from that night written in my very first journal. It was mostly a prayer to God that she would be found safe. For years, I would look at the entry, upset about the prayer that had gone neglected. Now, with matured faith, I know He answered, just not in the way I wanted, but she was found, and by then, she was safe in His arms.

The next two days were torture as my 10 year-old mind comprehended the gravity of the situation. Family, friends of family, and strangers gathered on the farm to help find our little girl. After days of searching, her body was retrieved from the river where it was determined she had snuck out the door from the house, silently, followed the dog down the hill, and slipped in, losing her breath and earthly life. It was such a horrible, unexpected accident. I still see the event so clearly, but I will spare exact details from my memory.

It was extremely traumatic. I had visions and nightmares for years. Her older sister who is a few years younger than I, and I, attended a grief/loss support group for children once to help heal. It probably helped some.

As time went on, the nightmares subsided. It wasn't until I took a college writing course at school in the 10th grade, and I wrote a descriptive essay about the event (which garnered tears from multiple teachers and professors as well as an A+ grade) that I think I really healed.

It still makes me sad, but it's much easier to cope with. Sometimes, I still feel like that little girl who was so upset she couldn't even stomach Pepto Bismol to quell the nausea (I still cannot to this day drink that stuff) or the 10 year-old with a 2 year-old, blonde-haired giggly baby attached to her hip spinning in the front yard. I can see Carissa dancing to "Cecilia" by Simon and Garfunkle and remember laughing at her thinking it was the cutest thing. I listen to that song still and that's where my mind goes.

More often than not, now, I feel the loss like a mother. I felt so horrible as a child for the loss and trauma my aunt and uncle had to endure, but now, with two toddlers of my own and a baby on the way, I embrace it more strongly. I put myself in their shoes. It breaks my heart in a new way, and truthfully, causes terror at the thought that my own children could be gone in the blink of an eye. 

It's affected my parenting, too, I'm sure. There was a long time where bath time terrified me or my kids getting water in their faces at bath or pools freaked me out. I still find myself nervous while someone else bathes them and they become quiet, even though I know it's sheer terrorized paranoia. I worry about them opening doors, or being so quiet playing outside that they've disappeared. I worry about losing them so young and never seeing them grow up. I hate the idea of losing another beautiful young toddler in our family and spending the rest of our lives wondering who they would have become.

I admire my aunt, my uncle, and my cousin, for overcoming the loss. They are each a beacon of strength and hope.  Today, as I do each year, I pray for their continued healing and send them all my love.

Almost Due.

It's almost April 18, 2012.

That wonderful Wednesday, my youngest sister will turn 13. Man, that makes me feel old!

That same Wednesday, last August and September, was slated to be our due date with Baby Sprout.

I can so clearly recall how "perfect" we thought that pregnancy worked out to be. I mean, really, being due on my sister's special birthday!? It was AWESOME. I for one, had prayed about it constantly since I calculated what that date would be, just asking God to allow it to happen. When I tested positive early morning on Sunday, August 7, I was shocked with disbelief, but through the roof with excitement. We told my sisters about the baby that morning already, we were so overjoyed!

And, as life would turn out, we lost Baby Sprout in the middle of September. Grieving and healing from the loss of the baby was a huge process to me. It was overwhelming for days before I finally could make it hours without crying. And over the weeks, and months as my body healed from my D&C, my mind started to heal as well, with the prospect of trying again for that second birth.

A sidenote: Sometimes, I get confused as to what to call Baby Bo. Is Bo my third child? Or is Bo my second child? I opt to say second child because it's less confusing for everyone else. Second child, third pregnancy, perhaps?

Anyway... On December 12, 2011, I tested positive again, and was cautiously optimistic and excited with the "perfection" of this pregnancy as well. As I had calculated that due to be August 26, 2012, which was just days after Jake's twin and his girlfriend, one of my best friends, were to be home for a wedding from Alaska. It seemed another pregnancy too "perfect" to be true, and for weeks I was scared of the same fate. Jake and I relish every movement (even if they wake me, or if Bo seems to be trampolining off my bladder during a 2.5 hour car ride) that we feel, knowing that Bo is alive and growing and gearing up to meet his/her family.

Now, I'm 21 weeks along, with an adjusted due date of August 19, 2012. We, again, are beyond overjoyed at the idea of bringing a sibling into this world for our wonderful son.

When I got my memorial tattoo for Sprout in November, it really helped me to find peace in the situation. Never once was I really mad at God (as I shared in a group not long ago at Operation Prom Dress), but I was frustrated, sad, and disappointed that it all happened. But then, it was like a release. Letting go of the sorrow as much as I could, I guess, and moving on to what lies ahead.

And I don't think I've cried over the loss since.

Until last night. Out of nowhere, it seems. I guess I was thinking about what the date would be next Sunday, when Jake and I have plans, and how my sister's birthday is only a few days after. And then I realized.. that was our due date. If that pregnancy had gone well, I would be due any day now. Or maybe, just maybe, we'd have already met Sprout. Maybe we'd know if Sprout was a boy or a girl. Maybe... And I got to wondering if Sprout was our son, or our daughter. I feel like the baby was a boy, though of course, there was no way for us to know.

I started sobbing. I told Jake that in over a week and a half, Sprout would have been due to be born. It was so overwhelming.

But, of course, I realize I am already over halfway through this pregnancy with Baby Bo. God gave us this gift, too. And this time, God willing, we've been able to progress smoothly, and God willing, will be able to meet our son or daughter in 19 or so weeks.

While it doesn't take away the loss, it helps to cope, some, I guess. But I'm torn. It's hard to be sad about the child we lost while we are getting ready for another child, now. But, Bo will never replace Sprout. Bo is just the given we were given after Sprout left us. And it's okay to be sad, I think. It's okay.

I'm not going to let it bog me down. I'm not going to dwell on it and take away from my sister's birthday. I decided if I wrote out how I feel, maybe, once again, like it did right after the loss, it will help me cope and move on. So, here's to that prayer.

strength and courage

"Perhaps strength doesn't reside in having never been broken, but in the courage required to grow strong in the broken places." -unknown

I came across this quotation this evening, in the form of this greeting card someone had pinned on pinterest.com.

I had been browsing pinterest for about half an hour, trying to pass time until the laundry is done and I can fold it and go to sleep. Jake is on his overnight route tonight, and it's hard for me to sleep anyway, so I was hoping to get into a zombie-esque state of mind before I went to bed. I was doing a pretty good job of numbing my thoughts, actually, until I saw that image on my screen.

It stopped me dead in my... right-click-new-tab marathon.

I actually find it a bit amazing that I even noticed the quotation. As much as I love language,

writing, reading, poetry, prose... when it comes to inspirational quotations, I don't generally notice them. If they're sung to me in a song lyric, they stick, but if I see a quotation on a brightly colored square in a lovely accented bold font plastered on a Facebook page or other website, my eyes automatically (it seems) skim over it. I don't know, I guess I prefer to read things in paragraph and standard sentence form? That seems so... unlike me and my love for the arts, visuals, poetry, and such. Ah well, that's how it is. I pretty much skim right over anything of that nature.

For example:

Generally speaking, something even as basic, bold, and punchy as this little ditty wouldn't catch my attention.

I wish I knew why. Hopefully, dwelling on that won't keep me up all night.

But anyway, for some reason, the quotation above caught me, in all it's unlikeliness to have done so.

That's pretty... lucky? Or meant to be?

I think that's a pretty fantastic, and quite fitting, quotation/proverb to relate my current season of life to.

It's been over a month now since we lost Sprout. On the 15th of October, I cried my eyes out to my husband, telling him how I'm just not feeling like I am "over it," yet, and asked him to accept me for that, as I accept him for having moved on.

I still don't think I've moved on. But, I do feel stronger somehow. Until that day, I hadn't really cried about it in over a week, so naturally, that little meltdown caught me off-guard. I shed a few tears on my birthday, thinking about it, and how I was pregnant last year on my birthday and "should have been" this year (in my mindset, of course), and up until this evening when I read of another friend losing an unborn child, I was tear-less again.

I hate to say I'm "proud" of that, because it seems a weird place to issue the term "pride," but I do take some peace in knowing that my heart is mending.

Yes, it was broken. It still aches for my lost child. But, it's healing. Slowly, steadily.

I will admit there have been a few days here and there where I just didn't feel I had the courage to face the fact that I had to get up, go on, knowing I'd lost a child. But, I did it.

I would have been in the second trimester now. I soon would have been feeling my baby move for the first time. Those are moments I am missing, longing and aching for, as I type this.

But, I know that someday I will have those moments again.

I haven't much else to say about it, I guess. I already feel that I've babbled enough.

In perfect timing, the dryer just buzzed.

Godspeed, friends.

A Good Weekend.

It's amazing how you can sit and talk with a close friend from high school (or elementary school, college, work, church, camp, etc.) and even if you are only together for a matter of minutes, your mind can be flooded with the memories you made together.

Tonight, as I lay in bed (where I am writing this on my phone), I am playing a memory in my mind where my dear friends mart, Jason, and I were going to a movie together one summer evening. Jason was driving, with his Nickelback cd playing, and one of them decided he knew a short cut to get to the town with the theater. As it turns out, he was very wrong, and we got a but lost, and were too late to really enjoy the film, so we went back to Jason's house. On the way, a surprise thunderstorm and torrential downpour happened upon our journey, and we had to pull over and sit on the highway, being blinded by constant lightning so bright we could barely see. I remember hoping we didn't die. Haha.

I miss those days, but I am grateful for the present, too.

I had a pretty good, back-to-normal sort of weekend of minimal tears, comparatively, and less heart ache.

Saturday started out pretty stressful as our initial plans for the day were nearly ruined, but it ended in just a two hour delay, in which we missed Jason's wedding ceremony, but were able to make it in time to the reception. We were fortunate to be able to spend a few hours with some of my good friends from high school and some of their children. In fact, we filled a table with good conversation and tons of laughter. I love having friends that I can see rarely but still hold close in my heart, if that makes sense.

Sunday, I received hugs and prayers again at church, but I managed not to cry. Impressive, i think. Though, admittedly I cried st the end of the service, knowing it was the last service a friend of ours would lead.

Following church, we spent the remainder of the day with my dad and sisters (and one of my sister's friends). We had lunch, spent a few hours at Falls Park enjoying the weather and each others company, had frozen yogurt, and finished the evening with some laughs and conversation at our place.

Again, I made it through all their hugs without tears. I didn't start tearing up until just bow, writing this actually, and thinking how Sprout's due date would have been Allison's 13th birthday.

It helped seeing Spencer so happy on both days. He loved "chasing" and watching our friends' three daughters at the wedding, and seeing him smile and interact with my family and his daddy, and hear his silly laugh so often today, really helps me cope and realize that life is good, even when bad things happen.

I am exhausted.

A pretty good day.

Overall, I would say I had a pretty good day today. In fact, it's probably been the best day I've had, mood wise, in over 10 days. Crazy to think about it that way.

Again, I admit, I cried a few times, but it wasn't broken-down sobbing today. Just... calm, quiet tears. I was shocked, actually.

I thought about Sprout a lot today. I wondered if our baby would have been a boy or a girl. I wondered if Spencer would have fallen in love with his brother or sister. I imagined, as we went by the hospital on our way home, going back there in April to bring new life into the world.

My heart still aches for our baby, but, I held it together pretty well.

It definitely helped that I was given some wonderful hugs by Tarah (again, she's so wonderful to me, so... so wonderful), Auntie Kat (she gave the BEST hug of the day, sorry Tarah and B), and Uncle B. Yes, multiple hugs after a long day sure does help turn spirits around.

It helps, also, that I was able to just stare at my son at random intervals and realize how incredibly in love I am with him, how he is a literal miracle in our lives, and how blessed I am that he's with us. I will admit, at times, it's hard to watch him play, because for seven weeks, I had envisioned him playing with Sprout someday, and those images still pop into my head. I can hold one baby, but not the other. So, sometimes, his existence does rub a little salt into the wounds of my heart, but even so, I wouldn't give him up for my life.

I am optimistic that we will still bring home a brother or sister for Spencer, in time. Hopefully, sooner than later. Yes, we still want another child, close in age, to our first. Our loss does not change that, but rather, affirms those feelings.

I know that having another child will not be a "cure" for the heartache we've endured. And no other child will replace Sprout.

I'm babbling. I'm exhausted. But, tonight, I am in a pretty good place, overall. Praise the Lord.

Oh, hey, Monday.

Today, I went "back to work."

I cried pretty much the entire way there. I was having quite a rough time the night before, knowing I am not fully mentally prepared to be out and about on my regular routine. But, I suppose admitting it to myself is a step, at least. I prefer not to live in denial telling people I am perfectly fine, when, chances are, I'll burst into tears shortly after and they'd think I was a basket case anyway.

I made it through the half day, only crying a couple times. Perhaps the roughest part was watching my son play with his friend who is about 22 months older than he, and realizing that could have been what it would be like for Spencer had Sprout been born in April, and lived to be Spencer's age. Yup, that was a rough segment of time. Really rough.

Sunshine was brought to my day after work, when I had both Spencer and Grayson with me, and I had to stop at Walgreens to pick up something. I had contemplated not taking a 16 month-old and 10 month-old with me at the same time and just returning later, but I knew when I would arrive at home I would most likely not want to leave my sanctuary, so I was ballsy and took them both in.

They were a riot. They were both standing in the cart (yes, that can be considered unsafe, but I moved super slow and paranoid that they'd jump out, watched them like a hawk), waving and telling people "hi!" (Grayson) and "go!" (Spencer). They made quite a few "friends." And, they were quite the little musicians too, as one shook a noisy box and the other jingled my car keys. They were laughing at each other. It brought me quite a few smiles.

I came home and was able to catch a short nap with Spencer before I woke up from a day-time 'night mare' and decided to wash some dishes.

I looked around and was overwhelmed with the amount of things I have yet again, fallen behind on, housework wise. But this time, it was more overwhelming than usual, because I just didn't know what to do. Like, my feet were stuck underneath me and I just didn't know how to proceed. It was almost hard to breathe.

This evening, Spencer wanted me to play on the floor with him. Or anywhere with him, so long as he was basically on top of me, or touching me, and I did not make one small flinch that he would perceive as moving away from him. Considering I am still having cramping (which they say is normal) and my back still hurts from the back injury.. or whatever it was, a week ago, it was pretty hard on me to sit there. And, Jake called, so I was talking to him, and had to get up so that Spencer would stop pulling on the phone. Spencer lost it, and I lost it.

I feel like it's impossible for me to be a "good mom" to Spencer when I feel like I'm not even doing a good job just being Nicole. I don't know if that makes sense to anyone but me, but it's how I feel.

Now, I'm not doing a "bad job" at being a mom, I know. But, I'm not doing as good a job as I would like to think that I could do right now. That kills me a little inside.

And I'm sure if he was able to articulate his thoughts, they wouldn't be anything like "you're a bad mom" or "you don't love me enough" but rather, "Mom, I know something's wrong and it makes me sad too," or "I just want to be with you right now." And those things are okay.

But, it's still hard.

I called the doctor today and talked about my intense lack of sleep that I've been having for almost an entire week now. It's not that I can't sleep at all, it's just that I wake up in the middle of the night, after finally falling asleep, usually after an intense cry, to a nightmare or something, and can't fall back asleep. Or, I just wake up, for apparently no reason that I can recall, and cannot relax enough to fall asleep. I thought the oxycodone/Percocet would help with that, as did the doctor, but apparently not so much.

She asked if I thought I was depressed. I mulled the question over a bit, and decided that I do not think that by a clinical definition, I am "depressed." But, I am sad. I'm heartbroken currently. I'm devastated. My baby died inside of me. I don't feel like that's the same. We discussed that, and she agreed that she didn't think I needed to consider myself "clinically depressed," and suggested I try a sleep aid for a week or so, and then if that didn't help at all, we'd discuss "other medication options."

I don't want to take anti-depressants right now. Okay, I might have a little "post-partum-death-of-baby-blues" going on, but I don't think that is the same thing. Not for me, anyway. I don't know, you may think different after reading my blog. But, I felt good knowing that she didn't think I really needed that kind of medication either.

Though, I have been contemplating seeing a counselor. At least for a little while. But, I'm torn on that, too. I know that I am perfectly able to pen my thoughts here, or to my husband, or a few good friends, without putting up a wall. But, would doing it to an anonymous professional help? Would it make me "heal faster?" I don't know. I was a psychology major for a while and a social work major after. I respect the profession. I'm just undecided if I need to arrive there yet.

I feel like maybe, I should just give myself a little more time. It's not even been a full week. Maybe, I need to just let myself cry if I need to cry, without wondering if people will think I'm nuts or think that I'm perfectly incapable of functioning on any level. I know I can trust myself with my child alone, though it's hard and I do cry, but I'm not worried for his health or safety. Even in the midst of my deepest sobs, my mother instincts kick in. I've seen it happen many times over already.

I feel like my mind actually stopped... thinking... for a while. Just now. I'm going to savor that.