Farewell Normal - A Womanly Welcome

I wrote an essay back in September for Real Simple Magazine's Life Lessons Essay Contest and I have been holding off sharing it on my blog on the off chance I actually won something. The results were supposed to be posted to their website after the 14th and as of yet, still nothing, but at this point I'm pretty sure that it's safe to assume that I did not win anything.

Farewell Normal – A Womanly Welcome

​I was thirty years old, but in many ways still a child when my mom was admitted to the hospital for a “simple” case of pneumonia.  I was five years past the age at which I had expected to be married.  My friends were all married or getting married and some of them had begun having kids already.  All had moved forward in life while I remained perpetually single and resentful.  In my loneliness, I had come to rely heavily on my parents to distract me and entertain me. 

​The night my mom was admitted to the hospital, we stayed with her until she was situated in a room, then I went home with my dad for a few hours of sleep before visiting hours began again in the morning.  After a brief respite, as we were on our way back into town, my dad received news that my mom was not getting enough oxygen.  The rapid response team had been called and they needed his permission to sedate my mom and put her on a ventilator to help her get the oxygen she needed.   When we arrived, we were told that she had been moved to the Critical Care Unit, I remember thinking that things were more serious than I had initially thought, but I was confident that she would be fine in a week or so.

​In the Critical Care Unit, my mom was only allowed to have two visitors at a time.   My dad, my brother and I took turns visiting her, along with various other family members and friends who had come to offer support.  Late in the morning, my sister-in-law and I were standing at my mom’s bedside, talking to her as we normally would, making jokes and light-hearted conversation despite the alarming labyrinth of cords and tubes that encapsulated her.  The tube coming from her mouth stretched perilously for the ventilator that was pressing air into her lungs.  We could see her chest rising and falling with the rhythm of the machine – a rhythm that was far more abrupt and robotic than the flowing rise and fall of the chest I had laid my head on for comfort so many times as a child.

​Our banter was interrupted by a loud beep from the machine monitoring her vitals.  My eyes darted toward the screen and saw her heart rate slowly but steadily declining.  Simultaneously my heart rate skyrocketed in fear.  Because I was a Discovery Health junkie, I knew that if her heart rate got down to 30, they would call a code to prepare for cardiac arrest.  As it hit 35, the nurses in her room leapt to action, shoving my sister-in-law and me out of the way.  One of them turned to us and in a brusque tone, said, “You need to get out.”

​I went completely numb as I stumbled toward the exit of the Critical Care Unit, barely able to catch a breath.  Just before I reached the door, I heard them call a code blue to my mom’s room.  I staggered out to the waiting room and collapsed onto the floor crying so hard I felt as though my lungs would burst.  My dad and aunt asked what was happening, but I couldn’t speak.  It wasn’t until a nurse came out a few minutes later that they were plunged into the fear and pain I was feeling.  

​My mom had experienced a cardiac arrest.  Her heart rate had come back up with the help of some drugs but it would likely be at least an hour before she was stabilized.  In that moment, the reality that my mom might never leave the hospital pounded within me.  I had never considered that possibility.  Even the night before, as the doctor had discussed with her the importance of an “advanced directive” or a “living will,” I had shrugged it off as the neurosis of an overly dramatic doctor.  I had assumed that things would go back to “normal” in just a couple of days.

​As we waited for the nurse to return with an update and to be allowed back into my mom’s room, I came face to face with my own selfishness.  The past several years of conversations I’d had with her flashed through my mind like a slideshow of my narcissism.  As my mom cooked me dinner, helped me clean, went shopping with me, the conversation was the same.  “Why doesn’t anybody love me?”  “Why doesn’t anybody have time for me?”  “Nobody even cares about me.”  It was an endless cycle – Why? Why? Why? Me… Me… Me…  I had wasted so much time COMPLAINING.  To her, to my friends, to my co-workers, to anybody who would would listen.  Even my blog was filled with complaining.  And suddenly, as the possibility of losing my mom, my best friend, loomed overhead, I realized that in comparison, NONE of the things I’d been complaining about actually mattered at all.

​I was thirty years old, but emotionally I finally transformed from a girl to a woman in that waiting room.  I stopped being so selfish and started to focus on those around me.  I took up my cross and began to walk as a Godly woman.    Over the next 24 days as my mom remained in the hospital battling for her life, then slipping away, I learned to call upon the friends God had blessed me with to help me carry my burden so that I could take on the burdens of my family.  I made it a point to not cry in front of my family, particularly my dad.  I needed him to know that he could lean on me and I would not break.  I took on the responsibility of leading the family conversations in our meetings with the doctors regarding my mother’s care so that he wouldn’t have to.  It was what my mom would do, and so it became what I would do.

​After several weeks in the hospital, my mom’s body had been making good progress toward recovery, but even after being taken off of all sedatives, she was not waking up.  An MRI found that she had suffered a “storm” of mini-strokes.  Her brain was riddled with blood clots and reflected no activity.  She could be kept alive on a ventilator, but she was essentially an empty shell.  My mom had always said that she would not want to live if only a machine was keeping her alive, and so we prepared to say goodbye.  We spent an agonizing six days essentially just waiting for her to die.  I sometimes wanted to run away like the selfish child I had been before.  Other times I wondered if we’d made the right decision, but that was selfishness, too.  We had chosen to honor the wishes she had expressed during her life and I reminded myself that God was big enough to overcome that decision if it was His will to do so. 

​A week after we turned off the life support, my mom passed away.  I immediately threw myself into the process of planning a memorial service.  I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew that I NEEDED to honor her, to serve her memory with as much care as she had served me for so long.  Much of my family was busy mourning while I was fighting to keep her alive for this last little while.  They showed their love for her in different ways.  I wanted to make the celebration of her life GRAND - partly because I felt that I had failed her by not marrying and giving her grandchildren while she was still alive - but mostly because I really wanted to serve her the way she had always served me.  I wrote her obituary with the utmost of care.  I pored through every photo album trying to find pictures for the program and the photo board.  I dug through recipe books for her favorite foods because in life my mom had mostly cooked foods that others liked though she wouldn't eat most of them.  So for her service, I would honor her by serving only HER favorites.  

​At the service, my uncle and I sang a song that my mother had sung to me as a child and I sang another one of her favorites on my own.  When the time came for my solo song, I stepped up in front of the gathering of friends and family and with a trembling voice sang out the words that spoke so true in that moment, “Que será será, whatever will be will be…”

​Over the next several months, those words continued to play in my head as I accepted the “will be” and began to step into my future, each part of that tragic month contributing a piece to the woman I was becoming.

​The time I spent helping my dad with the things my mom had always done helped to prepare me for the day I became a wife.

​The sleepless nights I spent at the hospital and the planning I did for the memorial service has helped me to be more confident in motherhood.

​And the lessons I learned about thankfulness in the face of difficulty have helped me to be a less selfish and more empathetic wife, mother, daughter, friend, co-worker, neighbor, leader and follower.  

Generation F (as in fantasy)

Today while I was sitting watching cartoons with Linnea, I saw one of the most disturbing commercials I have ever seen.  Not disturbing in the graphic or violet sort of way but disturbing in the values it was promoting.  It featured a little girl who was really excited because she had graduated preschool and so her parents were taking her on vacation to Walt Disney World to celebrate her graduation...  from PRESCHOOL!  What?!  The commercial then proceeded to call this trip a "kindermoon."  What?!
There is a popular and nasty ongoing conversation about millennials and how they are the generation of participation trophies and entitlement.  The reality is that there are people like this in every generation.  But that really isn't the point.  The point is that it seems that as a society we're trying to create a generation of SUPER MILLENIALS.  Forget the participation trophy - that's not good enough any more.  Instead you must be rewarded for doing EXACTLY what all other children your age are doing.
I pray that Josh and I can do better for our daughter (and any future kids we may have) - that we can teach her to be a responsible citizen who loves God and loves others. I pray that she can learn the value of working hard and experiencing disappointment now and then.  I pray that she can learn to appreciate the value of even the small things.  And I pray that she doesn't expect to go to Disney World for a "kindermoon."

The Earth Keeps Shaking

It recently dawned on me that my life has been a bit unstable, constantly changing without settling for the last 7 years since my mom passed away.  The first couple of years without her were a journey of discovery - recreating myself as an individual, or perhaps I should say God recreating me into a new and stronger version of myself. That fall I ran my first 10K as part of the process.  In 2011, I started Weight Watchers and CrossFit and by 2012 I had lost 50 pounds and was in the best shape of my life. I was building credit to try to buy a condo and for the first time in my life I was fully content exactly where I was.

Of course that meant everything had to change.  Just as I was growing comfortable living as a strong and single woman, I found myself in my first serious relationship in 13 years.  After just a few months together, I was taking a trip with his family, and as you probably already know, we got married a little over a year after that.

As much as life changed in my last three years of singlehood, it was nothing compared to the first three and a half years of married life to this point.  Once we started our marriage journey, we made no effort to prevent pregnancy because I had been told that due to my P.C.O.S. it would be very difficult for me to get pregnant.  With that in mind, we didn't want to delay that possibility so we left it in God's hands to bless us with a child if and when he decided it was time.  Imagine my shock, amazement and excitement when I discovered I was pregnant just four months after we got married.  In order to save for baby expenses, I gave up CrossFit.  I still kick myself every day for that decision, but what is done is done.  And in spite of that choice we are still incredibly blessed.

One week after our first anniversary, we got to meet our beautiful daughter for the first time.  The first few months of her life were surreal.  I had barely adapted to being married and living with my husband, let alone being a mother.  On top of that, learning to be a mother without MY mother was a a different kind of challenge.  After the first few weeks, Linnea struggled at every feeding.  I ended up leaving work to care for her because we knew that no daycare was going to spend an hour feeding her every time she needed a bottle. I was blessed to have been able to do that when I neede to, but it was also one of the most difficult changes.  I had always been so independent and this left me completely financially dependent on my husband which was a hard pill to swallow.

Over time I grew to love my role staying home with Linnea and taking care of the home.  I grew more comfortable taking her grocery shopping and getting things done while she played in her play yard.  And just as I started to grow comfortable in that role, God opened the door for yet another change.  We visited a friend in Idaho and through that visit, we found ourselves being led to move away from everything we'd ever known to a place where we knew just one family.  Linnea was just about to turn one when we moved away from the city where Josh and I were both born and raised.

Thinking back, that is a TON of change in five years time.  And it doesn't stop there.

In October of 2015, as we settled into our new home, it was time for me to return to work.  Linnea was thriving so much better on whole milk and solid foods.  So when she was 14 months old, she went to daycare for the first time.  Honestly, she loved it from the start.  As for me?  Not so much.  It was terrifying getting used to somebody else caring for my child all day.  I know that it's a common experience- still a big change for me.

Since then, most of the changes have been more subtle and gradual, but also more scary.  Being in a new place, we have struggled to make connections and build friendships.  One of the hardest parts about this is that I desperately want Linnea to have some friends we can have play dates with.  The absolute hardest part is that in this season of isolation, when I need God desperately, I struggle to find him.  I know that he is there and has been faithful - my husband and daughter are proof of that - but when it comes to the day to day ordinary things, I sometimes feel like he's missing.

The most recent change, or perhaps I should say challenge, was my foot surgery.  It was such a huge contrast from the first surgery I ever had ten years earlier.  For that one, my mom was by my side.  I stayed with my parents and they took care of me while I healed.  I had friends visit me in the hospital right after and at my parents house later.  I spent two weeks relaxing and healing and went back to work feeling refreshed.  But this time was much different.

I went through the process at work to be approved to work at home in preparation for my surgery because I knew it would be difficult getting around.  I planned on being able to work from home when the doctor released me after my first two weeks of recovery. Those two weeks were a blur filled with hours on the couch serving as a human jungle gym for a toddler.  When it was time to go back to work, my equipment for working at home had not arrived and so I had to roll my happy butt into the office on my knee scooter.  (BTW - the equipment STILL hasn't come.). In spite of all of that, Josh has been a champion taking care of me by himself while I heal.

After my foot is done healing, I'm ready for the earth to stop moving for a little while.  I am ready to settle in and enjoy this beautiful family that God has created.  I'm ready to rest in his peace - until he decides to shake things up again!

Men are Not the Enemy

Yesterday I wrote a little about why I was not a fan of the activities on Inernational Women's Day.  Today I want to expand.  The biggest problem I have with the current "women's movement " is that for many women it is creating an "us vs them" mindset toward men.  As a Christ follower, it is my belief we are one body and should not be constantly competing against one another.  How productive would a body be if the hand was constantly fighting the foot?  If the hand wanted to do what the foot is supposed to do?  The two parts were created for different purposes, neither more or less important, just different.  This is very similar to the differences between men and women.  There are certain things that each of us were biologically built for.  We should not be enemies, we should not be opponents.  We work best when we work together and love one another.

When I began following Jesus at age 21, I was very angry at men.  My first real boyfriend had tried to force me into intercourse and I wound up feeling used.  And right after that my next boyfriend used me as a "rebound" before going back to his previous girlfriend.  He also didn't take me seriously when I told him I was depressed and struggling with life.  He blew me off.  After those experiences, I decided that all men were idiots and I did consider them to be the enemy.  I had been hurt and by blaming the hurts on men in general instead of the individuals involved, I thought it was for my own protection, but the only thing I was protecting was my fear.  I had allowed "victim" to become part of my identity instead of part of my history.

In the two years following my second boyfriend up until a few months after I started following Jesus, I became a connoisseur of stupid man jokes.  I had books filled with the jokes.  I told them every chance I got.  I had a collection of keychains with anti-man jokes.  I thought it was hilarious.  Part of me truly believed it and believed that men could not be trusted (except my dad, of course.)  And another part of me deep down still wanted to be loved.

During the spring semester of my first senior year of college (yeah, so what - it took me 6 years) I was reading the book Faith on the Edge, which was extremely popular that year, and something in that book convicted me that I was holding a grudge against men who had doe nothing wrong.  By carrying those keychains and telling those jokes, I was devaluing a large part of God's creation.  I immediately removed the keychains and gave them away.  I prayed for God to change my heart toward men and to learn to trust them again.  And God blessed me with some amazing men who I called friends for that season of my life.

I had plenty of reason to be hesitant to trust men.  I had plenty excuses for saying many unkind things about men because of what had been done to me - and yet none of that could change what I had experienced and none of it brought me closer to God.  Actually it kept me away, and once I trusted and repented, I grew closer to God through the friendships he gave me, many with men,  It also opened the door for my first time falling in love.  I learned so much from that experience and God has used every bit of what I learned through that time of my life for his good.

Many years have passed since that and I cannot say that I haven't struggled to find my role in this world and within the church as a woman.  There have been many times that I have felt less valuable because I am a woman.  But this is part of the curse of living in a fallen world.  The men we wind up with may be FAR from perfect, but guess what?  The women they ended up with are also far from perfect!  I am a woman and I say MEN ARE NOT THE ENEMY.  We have a much bigger enemy, one who wants us to be so wrapped up in men's rights vs women's rights that we don't notice him creeping in and taking over.  Our enemy is sneaky and he thrives on division.

I pray that someday we can come together, men and women, side by side to stares unique aspects of men and women  down our true enemy.  I pray that we can learn to be thankful for the unique qualities in each of us rather than being resentful.  And I pray that we could recognize and appreciate the blessings each of us have and that we would continuously examine ourselves and our own hearts to be sure that no bitterness takes root.

I am Woman, Hear Me... Yawn...

So today was apparently International Women's Day.  I'm not a big fan of having a "Day" for everything.  It doesn't upset me or offend me, I just don't understand the logic behind it.  In my mind, the Bible's instructions to love God and love your neighbor as yourself  (Mark 12:30-31) make things pretty simple.  We should love all people on all days, even when we don't necessarily like them.  We should show love to our spouses every day, not just on Valentine's Day.  We should celebrate our mothers year round, not just on Mother's Day.  And we should celebrate the value of women and their accomplishments every day, too.  Oh, and the value of men?  Let's celebrate that, too.  Every day.

This may be a controversial mindset since I am a woman, but I just don't get it.  Especially the "Day without women" protest that was happening today.  I'm not denying that there are situations in which women are treated unfairly.  I have often found myself explaining to my husband how difficult it is being a woman sometimes, especially within the church, because church tradition puts women in the background even though they were valuable to Jesus and his ministry.  That being said, I don't understand what can be accomplished by this sort of movement.  It reflects poorly on all women, making us look whiny and entitled.  I personally do not subscribe to the belief system that says "the squeaky wheel gets the grease" but instead try to live in the knowledge that we all "reap what we sow."

The other big issue I have with the whole thing is that the women I've seen most vocally promoting this event have been outright attacking women who dare to question them.  It is completely illogical that the women who are fighting so hard for their "rights" are attacking other women for exercising their "rights" because they don't agree.  Maybe women would make more progress in their careers if they would stop being so darn mean.  Because if that's how they're treating other women who are supposed to be their allies, how do you think they're treating men?  To be completely honest, there have been times in my life that I have been ashamed to be a woman because many women out in the world are just SO MEAN - catty, and judgmental and gossipy and MEAN.

I understand that it's partly a need to feel in control that drives that meanness, but it ends up undermining everything the protesting women are fighting for.  This "Mean Girls" attitude demonstrates a lack of teamwork.  So if a woman has the same SKILLS as a man but she cannot stop gossiping and doesn't work well with the team, then why should she be paid the same as a male counterpart who does the same work without the drama?

At the end of the day, I am proud to be the woman God made me to be.  So rather than protesting which would only draw attention to me and puff me up, I choose to just reflect on what I can do to improve myself with God's help.  After all, I cannot change the attitudes others have toward me - I am only responsible for myself and my own attitude.

Pocket Change

As part of my journey to find a community of believers here in Idaho that I can immerse myself in, I went to a women's conference this past Saturday.  In the past I have never been a huge fan of women's events because many of the events that I have attended have been heavily focused on women's roles as homemakers and not as strong individuals who have a lot to offer both inside and outside of the church.  This can especially be demonstrated by when women's events or groups are held in most churches.  It is rare to find a group that doesn't not meet during the day on a weekday- which leave no room for any woman who is not a stay at home wife/mom.
Despite all bad past experiences with women's events, I decided to go to this conference and I am extremely glad I did.  Rather than a bunch of stay at home moms who were married at 21 and had never known real hardship, the 3 speakers had a wealth of life experience to share and were more than willing to admit their faults in front of a room full of women. It was refreshing and yet so different to hear such raw honesty from Christian women at a women's event.
Of the three speakers, the third one impacted me the most.  She incorporated many great stories and metaphors into her talk, but there was one thing that she said that shook me up and got me motivated to start digging myself out of the pit I've been in and to get back on track with life.  She was speaking on the subject of how to remain near to God and she said that so many people only give God a few minute here and a few minutes there whenever we can squeeze it in, but God wants more from us than just pocket change.  He wants us to INVEST in him because pocket change is not enough to build and sustain a relationship.
As I reflected on this, God took this metaphor even further for me.  Because Josh and I would like to be able to buy a home at some point over the next few years but we have a lot of things to take care of before then,  God made the metaphor more personal.  What I heard was imagine trying to save up for a house with just whatever pocket change you are able to set aside.  Would you ever be able to save enough?  If something is that important you should be willing to sacrifice in order to invest as much as you can.  Likewise you are trying to build a relationship with God with pocket change - with the few spare minutes at the end of a busy day.
That point pierced me through the soul as though it was intended specifically for me.  In my loneliness, I had been so focused on how to connect with other people that I had nearly stopped connecting with God.  After investing all of my free time and energy into building relationships with other people, I only had pocket change left to spend on my relationship with God.  I was just dropping in a few pennies worth of time here and there - just enough to say I had done SOMETHING.
Praise God that he loves me even when I only give him pocket change and I pray that he will give me the discipline to invest in him substantially moving forward - even in my loneliness and heartache.

Dusting Myself Off

If you didn't already know, life has been a bit rough lately.  I feel as though Josh and I have been in a bit of a wilderness season since we moved to Idaho.  We moved here without really knowing anybody but we felt that God had been clear in his guidance when we moved here.  We were excited and full of faith about what he might have for us here.  But our excitement quickly faded as we struggled to find a church home where we could build a spiritual family.  We still loved our new home but we struggled with feelings of isolation and loneliness as we drifted in and out of church each week with no personal relationships to help us through the weeks.

I cannot speak for Josh, but for me, the more isolated and alone I felt, the further I felt from God and the less time I gave him.  Finally, last fall it seemed like things might begin improving.  I was attending a mom's group on Wednesday night while Josh served with the youth.  I was hoping to FINALLY make some connections that would extend beyond those four walls.  I was enjoying the time on Wednesdays discussing life with other moms from a variety of home situations.

And then I made a mistake.  I was asked to help with the infant/toddler room on Wednesday nights and I reluctantly agreed.  I justified it thinking that I could build relationship with whomever I would be serving with, but I never felt good about the choice.  Some part of me knew that I only said yes because I was afraid that saying no would cause the person asking to not like me.  Wow.  I thought I had grown past that?  Hadn't I already learned to say no once before?  But the conditions had been ripe for it - I had found myself in a position once again where I desperately wanted people's approval.

I didn't realize how much my mistake had cost me until about a month ago when I had to have surgery to repair the tendon in my foot.  I realized that I didn't have anybody here that I felt comfortable asking for prayer.  I still had my Reno friends and friends all over the country that I'm connected to on Facebook, but not one friend here that I could ask for some face to face prayer time before I went under the knife.  I didn't even feel comfortable asking the moms' group since I hadn't been there for months.  Even worse, because I had sacrificed my chance to build relationships, I didn't know anybody to ask for help when I needed it in the time that Josh was gone after my surgery.

The last month has been a struggle, but God has been faithful even as I have struggled to call on him or trust him because I have felt so let down.  I had almost given up on trying to connect with people but God reminds me daily that he never gave up on me, so I have no place to give up on anyone.  I have picked myself back up and though I am weak and wounded (both physically and spiritually) I am ready to start again.  I have been back to the mom's group for two weeks.  I also attended a women's conference this weekend (more on this tomorrow).


So here I am, dusting myself off, trying to find my way back to the woman God created me to be.  I am reclaiming my faith, I am reclaiming my friendships and I am reclaiming this blog.

Tales of a Tenacious Toddler Part 1

In just a few days, I will have a two year old on my hands and I can clearly see why this stage is referred to as the "terrible twos" based on the tantrums and the ridiculous statements that I am forced to make in response to some of the "terrible" (though still quite amusing) 

1) "No, honey, you need to eat something other than marshmallows."    

     Funny story to go along with this one:  On Wednesday, Josh was bringing me breakfast because we had returned home from a trip late on Tuesday evening and hadn't done our grocery shopping yet.  I came out to the car and he told me that he needed to check on Linnea because while he was driving, he heard rustling and he realized that she had found our snack bag and pulled out the bag of marshmallows.  He wasn't sure how big of a mess she had made, only that she had been digging in the bag.  I opened the door to investigate and she looked up at me with the biggest grin on her face and shoved several marshmallows into her mouth from the pile she had created in the carseat between her legs.  I started to collect the marshmallows and put them back in the bag, then she grabbed another handful, put them in her mouth, then helped me put the rest back in the bag.  To me this reveals the true nature of toddlerhood - both devious and sweet in the same breath.

2) "Linnea, you do not take your shirt off in public."

     I would have thought it was far too early in my daughter's life to have to have this conversation, but she has recently taken to taking off her shirt in restaurants when she gets impatient waiting for the food.  Fortunately, it is just her shirt when we are in public.  But at home, it's another story...

3) "Linnea, your crib is not a toilet."

     Okay, so maybe I've never said it QUITE like that before, but the sentiment applies.  For about 4 months now, she has been taking off her pajamas in her crib if she isn't quite ready to go to sleep yet. Well, actually, it's not just her pajamas.  She also takes off her diaper.  This is more of a problem at nap time and she has been known to be found naked in her crib four to five times before she either falls asleep or we just give up on nap time for the day.  When she first started doing this, we purchased more one piece zip up pajamas, and for a little while, this worked...  Until it didn't.  

     One day, about a month after we started putting her in one piece pajamas for nap time and bed time, we had put her down for her nap.  There was chatter for a little while, and then silence, so we though she was asleep.  About 10 minutes later, she started crying and it kept getting louder.  When I went to check on her, she was standing completely naked in the corner of her crib.   When I walked in, she looked down toward the floor, pointed and said "Uh-oh!"  Her diaper and her one piece pajamas were there on the floor.  The pajamas were still FULLY ZIPPED!  We decided that she was practicing to become a toddler escape artist and promptly scheduled her for an audition for America's Got Talent.

    Another time, a few days later, the sound was different.  There was faint crying which is usually the sound that happens before she falls asleep.  Then silence.  Then chattering, which is also usually a precursor to sleep.  Then louder chatter.  Then "YUCK!  YUCK!"  When uttered by a toddler, "Yuck" is never a good sign.  I went to check on her and here is what I saw: pajamas on the floor, diaper on the floor, naked toddler in the corner of the crib pointing to a little pile of poop next to her with one word on repeat - "Yuck!  Yuck!  Yuck!"

4) "Tampons are not food."

     Probably this one does not require any further explanation - I'll just let you imagine what happens when a toddler discovers a box of tampons under the sink while mommy is showering.

These are just a few of the crazy adventures we have experienced thus far on the train ride through Toddler Town.  I have titled this post "Part 1" because I anticipate that it will not be long before I either recall more of these crazy stories OR I live through more of them.  Either way there will more than likely be a Part 2!  

An Election Season Challenge

Growing up, I looked forward to the day that I would be able to cast my vote for president.  After all, as children we were taught that in America, every vote matters.  As early as 1988, I can remember choosing who I thought should win, though at age 9, I can't say I had any valid basis for my selection.  But somehow knowing that I would someday have a choice, I felt empowered.

Finally in 2000, I had my first chance to choose.  To make my voice heard.  And I found out that my vote meant nothing.  The election in 2000 was a circus.  Between recounts, "dimpled chads," and a conflict between electoral votes and popular vote, I discovered that the American public has little say.

I learned that no president ever keeps their word because most of what they'd LIKE to do can only be accomplished if the other side cooperates - which I've never seen in my lifetime.  I learned that the media will stir up drama wherever they can to get more viewers so it's unlikely that anybody could make a FULLY educated choice.  I learned that no matter what the voting public decides, the other side is going to spend 4 to 8 years being bitter and mean about it.  And I learned that none of it matters because God is in control and whoever is in office, He has ALLOWED to be there.

I learned all of this BEFORE the current election season even began - and this election season has confirmed everything I learned and has gone far beyond.  The debates and the conventions are no longer opportunities to learn about the candidates qualifications and experience and how they intend to use it - instead they are reality shows, filled with name-calling, cat-fights and accusations.  

We have been presented with two choices, both severely lacking in virtues that are important for those seeking to be leaders. There are certainly other candidates who are more qualified but the manuscript that we are fed on a daily basis tells us that we only have the two choices and we collectively as a nation, we eat it up.  We choose our side and belittle anybody who chooses differently.  Apparently "united we stand, divided we fall" no longer applies, because even those we select as our leaders are divided.  Even these leaders belittle the other side.

So 16 years after my first election, I am FED UP.  I am fed up with elected officials who refuse to work together.  I am fed up with people who vilify anybody who see things differently than they do.  And I am ESPECIALLY fed up with self proclaimed Christians who spew hateful words about our current president and any candidate who values different things; who are looking to a candidate who regularly spews hate to "make America great again" which is really something that only God can do.   

So, with all of that said, I would like to challenge anybody who has read this far:  If you are a Christ-follower, it is your duty to love your enemies and prayer for your leaders.  Wherever you stand on the political spectrum, I challenge you to pray for our standing president Barack Obama, for EVERY presidential candidate this election (because you have to be pretty darn gutsy to volunteer for that level of scrutiny), for every candidate serving or representing your state, and for the American public to choose wisely and to be open to consider carefully.  I challenge you to try to see every candidate through God's eyes and to consider that before posting or sharing on social media.  And I challenge you to remember, above all else, to love them all, even if you don't like them.

The Agony of Remembering

When I wrote my last post, I promised that I'd be back to talk about what I had originally planned to write about.  It was supposed to be Monday night, but as it has a tendency to do, life got a little bit busy and several full days flew by in a haze of cleaning and toddler adventures and work and flying diapers.  In case you're wondering about the flying diapers, we have gone back to putting Linnea in only one piece pajamas because otherwise she removes her pants and diapers and throws them out of the crib.  I completely understand the sentiment, but we do not have enough mattress covers to allow such an arrangement to continue.

So what I had originally intended to write about was remembering.  We heard a particularly passionate sermon at church on Sunday about how looking back on where we've come from we should be more than thankful at how far we've come with Jesus.  For me, it was a bittersweet feeling - because I celebrate how far I've come since I began to follow Jesus, but I also mourn how much ground I've lost over the last several years.  Facebook's wonderful "on this day" reminder has been dredging up many painful memories of the days leading up to the last time I spoke to my mom, which are also somewhat comforting memories because it was during a season in which I felt closest to God.  I had finally begun to set goals and work toward them.  I had many great friends at church.  I was doing a 30 day yoga challenge which ended up turning into a 60 day yoga challenge.  It was the first time in a long time that I had actually followed through on a goal I set.

The day after I finished that challenge was the last time I spoke with my mother.  She went to the hospital with pneumonia and the next day she was sedated and put on a ventilator and never regained consciousness.  It was Father's Day weekend that year and I'm relatively sure that was the first time I had ever seen my dad cry.  The next 25 days were a roller coaster ride filled with ups and downs.  There were times when things looked like they were improving, followed by giant dips where we found ourselves falling so fast it made us dizzy.  This is the time in my life, looking back that I can most see God actively at work for me.  I prayed constantly.  I whispered prayers over my mom.  I had friends who came and prayed with me.  I fully put my trust in God.  And He provided, though not in the way that I had hoped he would.  My mom passed away after 25 days in the hospital, but I never once questioned God's goodness because I had so many people standing by me and caring for me so that I would be strong enough to stand by and care for the rest of my family.

The first year was ridiculously hard, and yet a ton of amazing things happened that year.  I finished National Novel Writing Month for the first time ever.  I started Weight Watchers and CrossFit and eventually lost a ton of weight.  I got my finances together and started working toward buying a condo or townhome.  I decided to try online dating again and I was confident enough to be okay when things didn't work out.  Things were going well and as much as I missed my mom each and every day, my life seemed to be on an upswing.  I was the most content that I had ever been.  Then my joy was compounded because about a year and a half after my mom passed away, I started dating Josh.  I continued on my journey and found myself in the best shape I'd been in since high school, probably better shape, actually because my diet was healthier.  As time went on I finally committed to a regular tithing schedule, I got baptized by immersion (rather than sprinkling which I'd always thought was good enough) and Josh and I were leading a small group at our church.

When people say that marriage is hard, they aren't joking.  It's absolutely a blessing, also, but it is certainly not for the weak of heart.  A few months before Josh and I got married, we experienced our first big hurdle.  And I will be honest and admit that I did not handle it well.  I mean, I did in the moment, but in the grand scheme of things, I did not handle it well.  I thought I was handling it well at the time but when I look back, I can see that I was trying too hard to be in control and not trusting God to handle it.  I have continued to struggle in this area of trusting God for our entire marriage so far and it has been damaging to my health both physically and emotionally.  I am constantly trying to control the situation, and when I can't, I feel like I've failed and then I eat... And eat... And eat...  I've always been an emotional eater, but during that season when I was fully trusting God, I did not struggle with that.

I am still trying to learn how to find that level of connection with God now that it's not just me.  I know that God should be my primary relationship, but obviously the way I connect with God as a married woman with a child is not going to be the same way I connected with God as a single woman with all of the time in the world.  It not quite like starting over, but it's like going halfway down the mountain and strapping on a hundred pound backpack and trying to go up the same way you did before.  That may be a bad analogy because it's not that it's heavy or a burden, but it does require a different path.  When you have two becoming one, as in marriage, it doesn't mean that all of your desires and plans suddenly become the same.  And because God is not a micromanager, there are things that are left up to us, and since us is more than just me, there has to be a different way to climb the mountain that works for both of us, together as one.

I'm not good at this.  Even though I wouldn't come out and say it, I often act in a way that says that I think that my way is the best way.  And when people can't see that, I get in a funk and I convince myself that God is punishing me for not doing a good enough job even though I know that is not consistent with the character of God, nor am I the only one responsible for mistakes we make together.  As a result of fighting so hard to be in control and not trusting God, I've lost so much ground in so many areas that I had previously developed good habits and I know that it is because I am so completely weak and broken on my own.  I have no strength or discipline without God.  Now that I have seen this, I am starting to try to develop healthy habits again, with the help of God, but it is a struggle every day because part of me is still clinging to the desire to control things that are not mine to control.  I pray that God would give me the strength to fully let it go and to follow His guidance in all areas of my life.