My Spring Thanksgiving Season

It always kicks off with Christopher's birthday.

Induction Day

His birth is what set everything into motion - or rather, one bacon cheeseburger at Chili's and my propensity for having "morning" sickness at odd times and/or so late in pregnancy did - for Pneumogedden.

I was already sick here, unbeknownst to us, incubating bacteria in my lungs.

And in the two weeks between his birthday and mine, it all settles in.

The reflections on just what hell on earth we went through.

The million little gratitudes for our families, those we were born into and those Seth and I built through our church, our neighbors, and that we created while in the hospital.

The awareness that my body is FREAKING AMAZING. (God knew what He was doing, eh?)

Sometimes, I get a little psychosomatic and my scars begin to itch terribly before I start to enter this spring Thanksgiving season.

Other times, I think, "It's been YEARS. Get over it already!"

But here I am, marveling at it all over again.

Specifically from the angle of how I was still able to nourish my then-newborn baby boy, despite all odds.

Theme of the week...now that it's half over

Things I've done this week that seem to have been birthed from insane courage:

Sent some messages to some of my writing heroes today for ideas on how to get more serious about my writing. Holding on to hope that the something great to come of it will be that they actually land on the "keep" piles from their assistants.

Applied for a job that I know I can do but never have; it's completely out of my realm of experience but totally in line with my talents. Hoping they see that.

Shared my heart with a loved one regarding a serious concern.

Corresponded with a marketing rep about writing a blog post for their company campaign after I initially said no to their "cold call" e-mail. (hint: yes, I am!) I have no idea where I stand with this because their guidelines keep changing.

Eight is great...

I love this picture of you. 

It makes me just want to squeeze ya and kiss every one of those cute little freckles on your face.

And maybe tickle you till you burst.

I see the joy you bring to our lives with that smile.

I also see a sharpening of your cheeks and jawline that hints of time going by, of the inevitable transition  you'll be making from boy-child to a man.

Teaching Honest Beauty

I fell asleep last night in my Sunday-best hair and make-up.

Oh, c'mon, like you're so perfect you never wake up with crusted on mascara? Psh...

Pics or it didn't happen, you say? 

Well, here ya go.

Caution: Eyes are more red and puffy than they may appear.
Because my eyes are delicate flowers.

We scare because we care. 

Ooops, I meant I share because I care.

I care about an honest look at beauty.

I do not see a pushing-40 woman with blotchy skin, fine lines, bags under her eyes, etc. 

Ok, well I do have eyes in my head, so yes, I see her.

Let's try that again: while my eyes may see a pushing-40 woman with blotchy skin, fine lines, bags under her eyes, etc., my heart sees a tired mama hen rising before the shine in order to get her little chickies off to school at an ungodly hour with full and warm bellies, lunches for later, and encouragement to start their days.

That's beauty.

Gentleness...it benefits us all

Unsplash: Lukas Robertson

I've gotten a bit busy this week, so I'm pulling an oldie but goodie from the archives today.

My husband was our church's groundskeeper for several years.

What started out as occasionally mowing the lawns and keeping the weeds at bay in the parking lot ended up being a 10-year volunteer stint. He started doing it solo when Kelsey was just a baby, and over the years it became a family thing.

I wrote this post almost 6 years ago - and while gardening might not be your thing, the lesson God impressed upon me is one that anyone can use.

Rosebed Theology

This year, the rose garden has been particularly afflicted by morning glories.

This season started out as uncharacteristically wet - April and May just rained and rained and rained.

Not quite that long, but it felt that way!

And being that there were three children and two jobs to attend to, the rare sunny day we'd get was usually a day full of scheduling for activities other than weeding.  It has still rained/hailed more than normal here, but this summer has since gotten into a dreadfully-hot-followed-by-afternoon-thunderstorm pattern that is typical of Colorado.

The rose bed got to me a couple of weeks ago, though, and I said, "We have got to go rip out those weeds, the roses look pitiful!"

So we did.  After 4 hours in the heat (not raining [in the mornings] now!)of squatting and crouching, getting scratched to hell, tending to 4 mischievous kids (we were babysitting, too) I was D-O-N-E.  And boy howdy did my hamstrings howl for the next several days!

It was hard work and hardly entertaining, yet somehow I managed to hear the whisperings God directed toward my heart about the inherent lessons of the rose garden.

First of all, it didn't take long at all for these horrible, life-choking weeds to grow to the extensive mess they'd become.

Sin is like that.

Ok,so maybe God didn't whisper that one to me as much as he gave those words to Seth for him to teach our older boy with and I just overheard. Same difference, right? Whatever - the rest is all mine!

And these plants weren't new either - they were mature, well established roses, but every bit as susceptible to the weeds as any Christian is to sin.

Second, the roses couldn't undo the entanglement on their own, nor did they cry out for help, necessarily.  No, they were dependent on the astute observation and careful intervention of others.
  
Brothers and sisters, if someone is caught in a sin, you who live by the Spirit should restore that person gently.  But watch yourselves, or you also may be tempted. Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. 


At one point, my Mr. Fix-It observed, "You must be a lot more patient than I am."

This, being a statement filled with irony, garnered a quizzical 'say wha???' look from me.

He then explained that he was just ripping the vines at the bottom of the plant and pulling, whereas I was carefully finding the base of the vine and unwrapping each rose stem individually.  He concluded, "Yours look way better than the ones I've done."

That much was true, but before he went on thinking too highly of me, I told him the truth: "Actually, it's more out of self-preservation than it is patience."

It was my turn to elaborate.

"You see, when I was all fast and furious about it, I would get all scratched up, plus, it tore the roses up too.  When I take my time and am gentle about it, sure it takes longer, but both the roses and I benefit."

No sooner did the words leave my mouth than I felt God's Spirit, nodding beside me.  ....restore...gently.  But watch yourselves, or you also may be tempted.  

Tempted to do what?

Rush the job, haphazardly 'fixing' the situation, leaving yourself and the stuck person, albeit no longer stuck, bleeding and bruised on the way?

Judge the person and fight to wrestle the sin at hand out of that beautiful rose of a person, only for both of you to come out battered and missing pieces?

No matter how good intentioned one may be, if they haven't love or gentleness when dealing with a brother or sister stumbling into, or stuck plumb in, sinful habits, there will be casualties.

Proceed with caution, assume nothing (as often there's more than meets the eye), and lean on the Lord's understanding, not your own.

Accountability: The Great Fit Life Venture

At the beginning of 2017, I vowed that this year was mine to reclaim my health through weight change - I wasn't after loss for the sake of losing as I definitely want(ed) to reduce my bodyfat and increase my muscle. I also wanted to feel better in general with sufficient energy levels and fewer aches and pains.

Now, I'd made these kind of resolutions before, so I did a some things I hadn't before.

Thing Number 1: The Big {Fat} Hairy Audacious Goal (called a BHAG in the business world)

Drop 60 pounds by the end of 2017

Trauma, Arrested Development, and Grace

Photo by thomas henke on Unsplash

It is difficult when victimized people get stuck, because yes, something(s) awful happened.

But...

At some point we have to own our stories and decide whether the hard times DEfined us or whether they REfined us.

Maybe we were completely blameless for whatever incident(s) occurred against us. This is most often the case. The traumatic event was absolutely beyond our control. 

But after? We have control of what happens next. Trauma, either via force of nature or executed by another person who chose to act from evil, is not the author of our stories. A pivotal plot device, perhaps, but not the outcome or source of definition for our souls.

We are the ones who can choose between escapism and moving our futures forward; between hardening our hearts against future hurts and becoming vulnerable, to the point of brokenness, so that love and all its risks might live again; between living a life of emptiness as just a skeleton of who we once were, and [re]building a life with fullness and meaning; between constantly carrying the heaviness of our shame, projecting it on others with deflections of blame for the way we act now, and letting it go, accepting responsibility for our actions during the after.

These are agonizing choices; they may leave us more battle fatigued and scarred than the initial trauma ever was. But, when we choose the path of survivorhood rather than that of victim, we rise like a phoenix from the ashes, emerging more powerful, awesome, and beautiful than we were before. We can pour that beauty into others yet to be preyed upon by evil, ignorance, hatred, or abuse, and multiply the impact of one victim's transformation by supporting others as they seek the same path.

Or, we can become paralyzed, holding on to the burden of trauma so tightly that everything else slips through our grasp. The trauma feeds on us like a parasite, creating a shell of the person we once were. We are blinded to good deeds, thinking only the worst, allowing no alternate possibilities to exist in our minds. And we push loved ones away with this skewed reality until the worst becomes reality, indeed. We become stunted in our personal development, unable to support and help others without ulterior motives or manipulations in play. It all becomes a vicious game of Hurt or Be Hurt, either option becoming the fuel for that perpetual prophecy birthed from our fears, unforgiveness, maladaptive coping mechanisms (those things that numb us from life, addictions to sex, drugs, alcohol, gambling, bingeing, compulsive lying, etc) and we are never truly free.

I choose to be a warrior.

A Parent's Take on 13 Reasons Why

PLEASE NOTE:  If you experience suicidal thoughts or have lost someone to suicide, the following post could be potentially triggering. You can contact the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741. You can also call 1-800-273-TALK (8255). The Alliance for Suicide Prevention offers local support in Larimer County.

The other day, I was scrolling through Facebook (something I am doing entirely too much of lately in my unemployment) and came across an article for The Mighty called "Why I Wish I Didn't Watch 13 Reasons Why."

I'd seen the trailer for the show on Netflix some time ago, but quickly forgot about it. This article revived my interest in the series, and because I am the obnoxious type who actually likes spoilers, I read the review first.