So Much Noise

I am having difficult sleeping lately so I'm trying various things to get my body ready for sleep.

Anyone that knows me well, knows that I am not a girl that loves to lounge in the tub but much prefer a pounding, hot shower.  And I like my shower in the morning ... I've been known to equate your morning coffee to my morning shower.  If I'm doing some dirty work during the day, I'll also take one at night to clean up, but you'll still find me back there in the morning.  It's just my thing.

I say all this because I've tried a couple of nighttime baths recently.  Sounds like a lovely way to wind down, right?  Hot water, toss in some Epsom salts (magnesium is supposed to help with sleep), some quiet time to settle down and relax.

Quiet time.  This should be so easy for me to achieve.  My nest is empty.  There is no one here to make noise.  And I definitely know how to "be quiet".  But as I soaked in the tub searching for relaxation, all I could hear was noise!  The water was dripping ... where, I do not know - it was not from the faucet, so do I have a leak below the tub??  The clock was ticking ... incessantly.  The furnace was running ... why isn't it warm enough to keep it off yet?  The lady beetles were flying into the light bulb ... so. many. beetles.  And why didn't I turn the light off?  It's way too bright in here.  The cat was at the door begging to come in ... really???  It's like having toddlers!

So this begs the question ... can we really achieve quietness or is our world such a busy, loud, clanging cymbal that this is impossible?

I work in an office that is not quiet.  Phones, conversation, phones, office machines, phones, laughter, phones, alarms, phones, crying children, phones, doorbells, phones, traffic, phones, music.  You get the picture.

I live in a house that is not quiet.  Music, television, phone, fan, cats, appliances, ticking clocks, and, apparently, dripping water.

I inhabit a world that is definitely not quiet.  Traffic, nature, weather, sirens, people, entertainment, social media.

Even when I attempt quiet, I cant seem to achieve it.  My brain stays in overdrive.  I can't stop thinking ... about anything, everything.  Burnout?  Depression?  Survival mode?  Years of unintentional habit?

I want quiet.  I want peace.  I really want to be able to hear what God is yelling to me from the heavens but I just can't seem to hear over all the noise.  I want warm weather to return so I can at least be outside immersed in the  sounds of nature in hopes they drown out the sounds of my anxieties. But until then, at least for this afternoon, I am going to stay inside, as quiet as possible, and try to be comfortable in that.  

Right after I fold the laundry ...

"In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength."  Isaiah 30:15

Perfectly Broken

It's been a very long time since I've written.  It's been a season of ups and downs; steps forward and many more back; joys and sorrows.  Which is probably not so different than anyone else.

While it's not my norm to speak much about things so personal, I'm slowly realizing that my story really does matter.  It seems like honesty and transparency is what we all need to grow and heal and share our own path of redemption with someone else in the middle of their similar journey.

I found this seashell on the beach last weekend.  At first I passed it by, but something about it made me step back, take the obligatory picture, and pick it up to my bag of treasures.  It isn't a particularly beautiful shell.  In fact, it's just a broken clamshell.  But, oh, so perfectly broken.  And all at once it made me think of my family.

Here's where the truth hurts:  My family is broken.  Very broken.  We are hurt and sad and damaged and angry and some days just plain falling apart.  And I don't like it.

Looking at the shell there, lying in the sand, being tossed in the wave, I suddenly realized:  Isn't broken where we all need to be?  Isn't that broken place where we realize what it is that really matters?  Isn't it in the brokenness that God finds us on our knees with no where else to turn, solely dependent on Him?

So, in all honesty, yes, we are broken and living apart from each other and our now grown children, but we will always remain a family.  We created these humans, and they, in turn, their own little humans.  We are forever intertwined, as God intended ... He actually does make the rules!  We cannot be completely separated, no matter our living arrangements or whether we are healthy or sick or peaceful or angry.  And even in the heartbreak of what isn't, we can still share incredibly joyous moments in the what is.

"And He has said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.' Therefore I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ’s sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong.”

~ 2 Corinthians 12:9-10 

Winter's End

It seems like winter has lasted an exorbitant amount of time.

The darkness, the cold, the brown, the broken, the dead. 
It is an extremely long and difficult season.

Unless I embrace it for what it is; 
intentionally search for the beauty that lies within.

More recently, it seems that spring is beckoning. 

I can almost touch it, smell it, taste it.
I can almost hold it close.  

There are signs of light and warmth and new beginning and growth. 
It feels good.
It feels promising. 
It feels safe.

 

I don't know at all what spring has in store.
But I look back at winter, not in regret; only remembering what was.
I let go of the dead while storing the precious treasures I found there.
And I look forward to the joy of spring;
bringing those lessons with me, following the One that leads, believing winter has ended.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to uproot;
a time to kill and a time to heal; a time to tear down and a time to build;
a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance;
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them; a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to search and a time to give up; a time to keep and a time to throw away;
a time to tear and a time to mend; a time to be silent and a time to speak;
a time to love and a time to hate; a time for war and a time for peace.
~ Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8

This has been such a rough year. For you and for me.

Nothing has been easy. For any of us.

But I am holding my own and I pray that you are, too.

Tonight I am home alone. And I had no agenda. Frankly, the motivation has been nil, lately. So I grabbed the remote (the one I barely know how to use - yes, I'm that old now) and decided to watch a movie that I hadn't watched yet. Haven't had the chance, haven't take the time, haven't had the courage.

Tonight I watched Ben Is Back. Thank God, I was alone. Thank God, I was not in the theater.

Watching this movie if you don't have a personal connection to addiction, I'm guessing, would be uncomfortable at worst.

Watching this movie with that personal connection ... I don't even know if I have the words. I think I felt every emotion. I was on edge the entire time. I know I was holding my breath at some points. I was encouraging and applauding the various characters. And I was angry with each one of them. Except the little ones ... and the dog. Not them.

But the mother. She was me. I could physically feel her heart. Even though in my own situation, I am the addict's wife, I intimately KNOW every emotion she experienced ... sadness, joy, love, hate, anger, hope, fear. Every. single. one.

And at the end, I cried. No, I sobbed. And it was u.g.l.y. (Hence, paragraph #3.) I'm over an hour out of the final credits and I am still on the verge of tears.

Maybe I needed the cry, the release. Maybe I needed the reminder that addiction is so real and closer than I'd like to recall.

Maybe I needed to come back here and write again. To tell my story. Because it's in the stories that we learn and heal and know how to move forward. And as I wrote at the very beginning of this blog, there is nothing small about one's story when we tell the truth about our broken and beautiful lives.

Share your story.  It WILL reach someone that needs to hear.

Worth

I’ve had two Facebook conversations this week with two different friends that needed a little encouragement and within those separate conversations, I told them each that they were WORTH it (in relation to the discussion we were having).

Today, the sermon at church was remarkably similar in subject and definitely God-given.  Our Pastor encouraged us to “let it go” … let go of the negative words spoken over us and hold onto the truth that we know.  He even had a scene clip of one of my favorite movie quotes from The Help:  “You is kind. You is smart. You is important.”

I’m trying to stay awake to watch the ball drop on Times Square (on TV, not in person) with my girls and I keep going over these conversations and this sermon in my head.  And since it is New Year’s Eve … looking back at the year that has passed … looking forward to the year ahead … it’s an appropriate time to claim 2018.

This year I am claiming WORTH.

I am WORTH it … whatever it is!  I am WORTH more … more than I’ve believed, more than I’ve allowed, more than I hear being said, more than my critics think.  And since I am WORTH it, I am also going to work toward financial WORTH and stability so that I can one day claim my financial peace as well.

And, you know, while I’m at it, Lord, please help me to LET IT GO.  I am going to let go of the negative words spoken over me … of the pain those words have caused … of the feelings that still hurt. 

I need to LET IT GO … because when I do, I'll have a lot more room to hold onto what I am WORTH.

A Mama's Moment

“I have a son, who is my heart.

A wonderful young man, and loving and strong and kind.”

~ Maya Angelou

My son is a senior in high school this year. I've done this before with his older sister and am trying to savor "the lasts" of the year. I first noticed things were changing when his heart broke leaving summer camp this year. The "first of the lasts", maybe?

Already, this seems to be a very transformative year for him. I see him growing and maturing and branching out in all kinds of ways ... trying new things; making big, solid decisions; allowing a gamut of emotions; speaking more profoundly. My little boy is growing up. I'm sad at the thought of losing my little boy, but so proud of the young man I see emerging.

I've learned many things as my children's mama. Just one is that at least two of the three do not appreciate me approaching them at the end of their sporting events. It is difficult for me not to ... win, lose, or draw ... but much better for each of us if I let them approach me when they are ready.

This was put into practice earlier this week at my boy's last home cross country race. Being the unofficial team photographer, I stay busy during the races capturing each teammate in various locations on the course as I cheer them on. I rarely make it back to the actual finish line for that reason and usually do not see my children cross the finish line. I have only been able to put the pieces together of this week's finish with the help of my friends.

As I watched my son round his last corner on the course and head to the finish, I knew he had placed very well, but I had no idea what had just happened. I'm told that, just beyond my final sighting of him, as he crested the hill to come into the chute, he realized his time on the clock ahead and pushed for the line with a beaming smile and our fans cheer him on! It was the best race of his high school career! He crushed his personal best by 43 seconds and placed in the Top 10 of the league. He had surpassed his season goal!

Happy but not fully understanding why, I headed back to my "photo spots" to catch the next race. I would wait for him.

And he came. In the middle of his younger sister's race, I noticed him approaching. Alone. Without his teammates. He was seeking me out. We locked eyes. He had that smile on his face and tears in his eyes. He never looked away. Never wavered. Never stopped moving toward me. I knew something special was happening and I began to move toward him.

Mamas, you know that moment that you long for? The moment when you realize you have not failed? When you recognize you've done just fine? When you know with every ounce of your being that your child really does love you?

THIS was my time. THIS was my moment with my son. He wrapped me in his little-boy-grown-up arms and stooped to bury his face into my neck and we held each other. I don't remember if he said anything. I'm sure I did, but don't remember what. But I will never forget those feelings of complete and utter joy and love. Part of my heart held his arms around me.

As much as I wish I could have photographically documented that moment, because that is what I do, I could not. Actually, it never even crossed my mind at the time. But I thank God that He nudged my friend to! I love her so much for capturing this shot with her phone just as our hug ended.

Mamas, I want you know that as long as your are loving your child the very best that you know how ... up on the hills, down in the valleys, and in the daily walk between ... 

YOU ARE DOING JUST FINE.

Neither one of you may feel it today.

But YOU. ARE. LOVED.

Your moment is coming, Mama. Just wait for it!

Spread Love ... Speak Life

A friend of mine died this week.  I first met her in 2005 when I was a patient and she was a receptionist in my surgeon's office.  We didn't really know each other but I found her laughter and kindness magnetic.  I nearly passed out from pain that day.  She (and their fabulous team of three) showed me great compassion and sat with me until I recovered.  She even offered to drive me home.

A couple of  years later, I found myself speaking to her on a regular basis after I became a receptionist in another physician's office that worked closely with hers.  She was always fun to speak with and very accommodating to work with.

Fast forward to the past few years ... we now have the same office family, and though we worked on different floors of our building, I always looked forward to her silly morning greetings and chatting with her throughout the day.  I can't remember ever seeing her without a smile or angry with anyone. She told the funniest stories and her laugh was so contagious!  

In addition to being a co-worker, she was a good friend.  The conversations we had about some things in my life that others had a difficult time understanding were comforting.  She just knew.

Since her death a few days ago, the comments on social media and those spoken out loud have been nothing less than an outpouring of love.  And it caused me to wonder ...

I wonder how my friend would have felt if she could have heard these things in person.

I wonder if she felt the joy that she gave to others.

I wonder if she would have held her head higher knowing that she was so loved.

I wonder if she would have done anything different in her life if she would have been praised so highly "then" instead of now.

I wonder if she felt as forgiven as she constantly offered her forgiveness.

I wonder if she knew ...

... that she was loved?

... that she was kind and, oh, so compassionate?

... that she glowed with joy?

... that no one could be sad around her?

... that she will be terribly missed?

... and that I am so blessed to have called her my friend.

I never told her these things and I am so sorry that I didn't.  I can only pray that she felt everything that is in my heart and in the hearts of those missing her today.  

I pray also that her family knew just how much she loved them ... with every ounce of her being she loved you ... and she would want you to find joy again and share it with those around you ... to love and to be loved.

I love you, Mary.  I pray I will see your joyful face again one day. In your honor, I will seek harder to spread what love I can and to speak life ... just as you did for me.  Thank you for being my friend.