Self-Care fo' Real: It Ain't All Play

It didn't really hit me in the grocery store just why this med container appealed to me.

I'd been in a serve and return pattern with my GP's nurse for a couple of days.

Can I get a referral to a psychiatrist? My depression is hitting especially hard.

You will probably want to check with your insurance to make sure that is covered and who is in your network. We don't really make referrals as much as advise or recommend providers based on their specialties.

Ok - called Anthem BCBS because I was too overwhelmed to navigate the online info. Also, I was on the phone while driving and maximizing my time. Gotta make those customer service reps earn their suppers, no?

The insurance peon emailed the list of eligible providers to me.

I then uploaded it to the patient portal app with a note:

Psychiatry is covered in my plan. Affordably so, even. Here is a list of providers that I am ok to see - could you please tell me which of them on the list specialize in brains dealing with undue societal gender norms in which we have to be super women? With a ton of traumas and two significant concussions in life? Mmmkay, thanks, bye.

Maybe it was a little different. Same idea. You get the point.

Almost as soon as my finger tips hit send on that hot little note, my phone rang.

It was my doctor's nurse. That woman is my freaking hero.

My doc is out of town, and she urged me to come into the clinic and visit with a lovely NP as well as the social worker (aka Patient Navigator), because it could be more than the depression.

True enough. Though not likely, having recently had all my thyroid and endocrinology panels done at a health fair.

Nevertheless, the message was clear: WE NEED TO SEE YOU.

Not to mention the fact that I was just spent psychologically because working up the nerve to coordinate all that shiz was a lot of Big Steps?

Exhaustipating.

So, yesterday morning I found myself sitting in the exam room, waiting for the NP to come in. I'd seen her before with one of the kids' ailments over the years, though who knew if she would remember me.

Soon as she opens the door, I lose it and turn into the bawling, sniveling creature I've been for the past month.

She is great.

We decide to up my Wellbutrin by 100mg a day since I have been on a conservative dosage. We also change it from standard release to extended release for a steady stream throughout the day.

Then the stuff I knew was coming.

How's the sleep?

Well, while I would totally love to cocoon myself and sleep the days away, I am still somehow a responsible, functioning adult and I make do with what I get. I rarely have trouble sleeping, but with homework and all I find myself getting 4 hrs here, 9 hrs there, etc. I know that isn't healthy and I have to regulate, but....yeah.

How's the diet?

So, it's been a whole lotta fish sticks and Poptarts lately because of time and schedule. What? That's not ok? [KIDDING] No, I know, I need to get back to more produce and whole foods, and I'm pretty good at it, it's just a matter of implementing.

So maybe ask your family for some support there in planning and prepping ahead?

Yeah.

How's your relationship with exercise these days?

Completely non-existent....which explains the newly acquired 10 lbs (since November health fair weigh in) your scale informed me of. Again, I was doing SO GOOD getting to the gym, walking dogs, etc. But since school started this semester....I haven't been to the gym since.

Ok, well, let's work on that.

And by 'let US,' you mean me, but yes, I'm aware of the need and that it will help, it always does.

By now, I'm tallying up the list of "small changes" that I need to implement and my head is about to implode.

After 25 years of dealing with depression/anxiety, I know, logically, intellectually, that these are key components of maintaining my mental health. But knowing and doing, especially when your brain is shutting down your motivational centers, are quite different things, it turns out.

And, the knowing of All The Things combined with the not doing of All The Things when your mind is wonky, turns into the "ONE MORE REASON YOU ARE A HORRIBLE, TERRIBLE, NO GOOD HUMAN BEING!" cheer that depression does, ad nauseum - literally, in your head.

What about therapy?

I was seeing a therapist after Vegas. And, while it helped, I really feel like I could have gotten the same impact by going out with my girlfriend and talking - there were no tools, no exercises to work through that gave new perspective or coping mechanisms, ya know?

We talk about CBT and bio-feedback options and how the patient navigator could help me explore options regarding providers with those qualifications.

The patient navigator comes in and thank you, Jesus, she is amazing at her job.

We talk a lot about how difficult it is to disclose when you're in the field of helping. How you know people and they know you, but do you want them to know that? How while we preach no stigma, it is almost doubly stigmatizing to disclose our own diagnoses and struggles.

We talk Brene Brown and apps like Calm (which I've had on my phone for several months) and other mindfulness/self-help tools.

I show her the brilliance that I found on the website Unf*ck Your Brain, and she is impressed. The woman behind the site, Kara Lowentheil, is a BAMF feminist with the smarts to use cognitive neuroscience in her coaching - Sweary Magdalene approves.

"See, you got this!"

Heavy, shaky sigh.

"Yeah."

I go to the grocery store to get my new RX, determined to buy the fixings for a healthy dinner, but hey depression has my executive functioning by the balls, so to speak. I can't think of anything.

I have a Pinterest account with eleventy-one thousand recipes, most of them health conscious, at the ready on my mobile life manager - but that idea never even lands.

I walk to the magazine aisle, look at a couple of food mags, and snap pictures of a couple recipes that call out to me, then proceed to buy the items I don't have at home. How's that for coping mechanisms? Outta the box, I know. :pats self on back:

Go to the pharmacy department, pick up new meds. We're out of vitamins, so I grab some while I'm there. I recall being low in vitamin D, so I grab some of those. Out of the corner of my eye, the pill boxes call to me. The one I already have is too small for everything I need to put in it.

And then I see it, the rainbow stacker pictured above. Toss it into the cart, and don't think anything more of it.

Until this morning.

As I took my meds and the promise of a new day glimmered anew before me, it hit me.

His promise.

I "subconsciously" picked a daily pill box that will constantly remind me.

You will not be destroyed. 

You can do all things with Me. 

Nothing will EVER change that.

So may it be.

Shine that Light

If you experience suicidal thoughts, the following post could be potentially triggering, as I share some of my own struggles in this area. If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, the Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386, or reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741.

Sunday morning I was in the church nursery with a little body in which the biggest spirit I've ever known resides.

He's a special boy, who has overcome so many developmental barriers in his short life that his mere presence in a room teaches a thousand unspoken lessons. Too often I admire him and his family from a distance because of The Busy Life.

Together, we tentatively, shyly at first, sang that old song, This Little Light of Mine, giggling at the joy he displayed when we hid our little "lights" (index fingers) under "bushels" (our cupped hands) and then ripped them away as we stage shouted our "No's."

This little light of mine

I'm gonna let it shine

Hide it under a bushel?

NO!

I'm gonna let it shine

Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine

Sometimes that light is to help guide others to a path that is right. That is the context Matthew 5:16 affords to the two verses preceding it and in which it is often preached.

Other times, that light serves to illuminate the dark within us.

The pain and courage it takes to summon that light, share it, and let the world gaze at all that is wrong within us is one of the greatest paradoxes the lived experience offers us.

The paradox continues in that this brightening process holds the key to our self-perpetuated prisons, offering freedom from shame and heartache.

Yet The Jailer* stands guard, whispering, "You can't tell them - they will never see you the same way again - all they will ever see is your weakness. Attention seeking, pathetic weakness."

That Jailer is a liar, but oh, how we fall hard for that tired old routine.

So...I did a thing today.

Well, really, I did a thing yesterday, the ramifications of which lead to this thing I did today.

I had a bit of a melt down at work yesterday.

I was the woman who cries at the office. 

And not because I was telling a sentimental story.

No, this was full-on depressed Heather riding the spiral of disaster ALL THE WAY DOWN because she just couldn't even, heaving sobs in reply to the non-stop barrage of inner self loathing that roared louder than the supportive words of my co-workers.

It was irrational. Completely crazy, if you will.

Which heaped up more shame for The Jailer inside to sling at me. 

I had class to get to and begged off finishing the meeting. 

A hand reached out.

"Are you ok?" was asked. 

Not the Captain Obvious variety of the question, rather, the "Are you ok to end the conversation/move on?" sort. 

The kind that implies "You're not going to do anything harmful to yourself, right?" 

The kind that makes me feel like a gigantic zero.

A muffled wail of, "No, but I'll be alright," was my response. I was humiliated, and of my own doing.

I fled the building, hot trails of disgrace snaking down my face.

I got to class and avoided eye contact, knowing the tell-tale puffy red look would elicit questions that I didn't want to, couldn't, answer.

Over the course of the next two hours, I re-gained my composure, even managing the nail-hitting commentary of the night. 

Home and straight to bed, skipping church.

I woke up this morning and had the same sense of dread wash over me as soon as my feet hit the floor.

Damn, still there.

Got through the motions of getting everyone off to school and arrived at work earlier than normal since Chris had a before school choir practice.

Had an unanticipated "so, about yesterday," conversation with my supervisor that went really, very well. 

And yet....

He said, "You're doing amazing." 

But I heard The Jailer, five times louder, screaming, "LIES!"

The sobs came to visit again.

My best friend brought me out to lunch, and I fell apart a few times during the conversation.

She said, "You're in the midst of a flare, Heather. It's ok. It happens, and you will recover, just as you have in the past."

The Jailer started up again, squeezing my heart, "This will never end. You're mine."

I silently mustered up the strength to counter, "No, I'm God's and God's alone. You don't own me. I will do my time, and then I'll be free again."

I rode the roller coaster of emotion the next several hours, culminating in a silent drive to FLTI tonight with Kelsey. 

Occasionally, the jailer's hurled insults and my recounting of the day resulted in fresh tears. The skin just under my eyes is so damn raw, y'all,

SO. MUCH. SHAME.

We got to FLTI and I sent my supervisor a text. 

"Thanks for the talk today. I'm in the midst of a depressive flare and I'm struggling..."

This little light of mine.

I pulled myself together and put a semblance of a mask on. I'm all pro at that. Have had a lifetime of practice.

I felt my heart lift more and more as the evening went on. 

Fully doing life and getting outside of your head will do that. Not saying it will replace talk therapy or monitored medication, lest y'all think I'm going all David Avocado Wolfe on you. But it does help.

At the end of the session, we had our closing circle as always.

"Aha's" first.

I raised my hand.

I'm gonna let it shine.

"My aha tonight was what a powerful mood booster you all can be. I've been struggling, really struggling, with a flare of my depression all week, I was crying on the car-ride all the way here tonight, and you all have made me laugh and feel lighter than I have all week."

Let it shine.

It's slightly terrifying to share with people who know you in the community, in a context where this kind of vulnerability could potentially damage your career / reputation. 

But, as Sweary Magdalene™ (Kelsey's new name for me, given my last post) would say:

FUCK THAT SHIT. 

That kind of thinking blows the light right out, and makes everyone think you're doing Just Fine.

Most of the world isn't doing Just Fine.

Our kids getting shot up at school is not Just Fine.

The deep-seated racism that continues in our country is not Just Fine.

The tremendous lack of access to safe, affordable housing and quality childcare  is not Just Fine.

The so common it pains me to think about occurrence of #MeToo events against women in our country is not Just Fine.

And really, so much more.

Bottom line is that we ARE NOT JUST FINE.

And I'm not going to perpetuate the lie that I am anymore.

Am I in a forever state of sadness? 

No - God and friends and family and the miracle of Wellbutrin have all gotten me through this before. I will get through this again.

Anyway, back to my point about tonight.

After our circle, I encountered the largest, tightest group hug ever.

The love. The light. 

It was shining BRIGHT.

Every body there was the power of Christ (Higher Power) that is laid upon us when we boast about our weaknesses. Because in that power, that fulfillment of humans living in relationship, as God intended, is freedom and life.

Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

Sidenote: In FLTI, we believe that what happens in FLTI stays in FLTI. I wish to make clear that I have honored that in this account in that I have only shared what *I* own to share and none of my peers' actions/statements.

*The Jailer is a creative literary device to symbolize depression in this story. I have chronic depression, not psychosis via delusions and hallucinations.

Where Prayer and Conjuring Meet

For those who may be new here, my grandmother passed away in February. 

My grief comes and goes, hitting in those proverbial waves.

Sometimes I talk to Jesus and the Father about it. 
Other times I talk with Grandma.

Hey Grandma,

Mother Nature almost missed the memo - not granting her usual showers in Colorado until late in the month of April, so May is catching up for us.

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.

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.

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.

speaking faith into existence

Have you ever noticed that praying out loud is often more effective than the silent "pray in your head" kind of prayer?

I have always known that about myself, but always attributed it to the way my mind always has way too many browser tabs open at any given time. I didn't really think about praying out loud vs. praying in one's mind as being a universal issue.

Until last night.

Our church has been doing a Sunday sermon series on Philippians for the last several weeks. For Sunday evening small groups, we've been discussing some of the key points our pulpit minister made that morning. Yesterday's text was Philippians 4:4-7:

4 Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! 5 Let your gentleness* be evident to all. The Lord is near. 6 Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. 7 And the peace of God,which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

* or, cool-headedness 

A lot of the sermon focused on modern day anxiety and how joy ≠ happiness. 


At group, we talked a lot about both of those things. Regarding joy, we talked a lot about how it is a perspective issue rather than an emotional feeling. Bringing in the context of the rest of the book, much is mentioned about humility, and I noted that submission to God's will and to the idea of "considering others as better than yourself" makes the way for a joyful outlook where we can see the big picture outside of our current situation. It was repeated often that living a joyful life is not about being a Suzy Sunshine Christian (see also, Ned Flanders), and understanding that one can be sorrowful and joyful at the same time is a key concept to living with an authentic sense of joy. 

Case in point, Jesus in the garden on the eve of crucifixion. He wept, and struggled with the pain he was about to endure, but he knew that by fulfilling God's promises, he would restore humanity's relationship with the Father. What greater joy could there have been, knowing that HE would be the vehicle to change countless lives through the ages?

Then, a chain of thoughts bubbled up in me as I focused in on verse 6. 

We are made in the image of God → God spoke creation into existence → by speaking our prayers out loud, we speak our trust in the Lord into existence → we also speak into existence tangible reminders of what the Lord has done for us when we offer these prayers "with thanksgiving" → as these things transform from jumbled thoughts to uttered reality, the peace of God sets upon us, whether it makes sense or not. 

And joy springs from that sense of peace.


I don't know if it was as mind-blowing to the rest of the group as it was to me, but it was a light-bulb moment for me, and made me think about how active participation in worship, singing the lyrics into existence versus just listening along, verbally asking God for wisdom, verbally acknowledging the big picture (salvation) and small picture (health, material things, etc) things He has done for us, is so important in growing our faith. 


Reminds me a bit of the Velveteen Rabbit:

“Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit. 

'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful.

'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.” 

Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

When we speak our faith into existence often enough, it becomes Real. 


And when our faith is Real, we don't mind being hurt.


That's no small thing.

Purer in Heart

Wednesday my youngest son's school brought all the 1st grade classes on a field trip.

I, in my typical want to compensate for the lack of school volunteering, went as a parent helper. I, of course, had that one kid. The kid who doesn't heed instructions or redirection unless he thinks it is his own idea. But it worked out all right.

As we were walking to our various stations, we'd pass kids from the other groups. One of these classmates had a visible simplicity of mind and a difference in his gait. He also had his own adult providing individual care to him. Whether she was his mother or para wasn't clear to me..

We made eye contact, me and this precious soul.

And in a too-loud voice, timbre deeper than most 8th grade boys, he called out, to anyone who would hear, "Hi! Hi!" holding his hand up in a static wave so as to let everyone know the source of this raucous greeting.

"Hi," I said brightly, smiling as I held my group at bay for the moment.

"Wha's yer name?" he asked with an odd cadence, putting the emphasis on "yer."

I caught the microgesture of his adult helper, the ducking of the head and tug on his hand making both the unspoken plea to "quit bothering this poor lady," and apology to me.

But I wanted to let him know, he's not a bother.

And, knowing my own daughter's "twice exceptional" status with tendencies toward the autism spectrum and a giftedness that makes her very book smart, often left her struggling to engage in exploratory social interactions, not to mention the awareness of just how often this little guy probably got ignored, I responded.

"My name is Heather," I answered with a smile as my hand echoed his own still gesture.

"Oh! Hi!" he said with a megawatt beam of a smile as his helper smiled back faintly, urging him on.

Later in the day, I took my group for a bathroom break, when my toothy grinned, auburn locked new friend passed by once more.

"Hi! Wha's yer...." he began, and I recognized her embarrassment again.

"Wait, yer Heather, right?"

I nodded, smiling broadly as the pride of his remembering rippled across his face. His adult helper relaxed, some.

"You remembered," I said, initiating a celebratory fist bump with him, putting his aide at ease and pushing this happy-smiled angel over into a dreamy bliss.

"Yes, Heather....yer My Heather."

It takes virtually no effort to change someone's day, and often the reward profoundly impacts you.

I can't get that sweet boy out of my head.

I wish that we were all so pure of heart that joy would be so easily grasped. Instead, we cover our joys with worry, envy, conceit, etc.

Lord, give me a simple mind and a joyful heart. Help me see the significance of the seemingly insignificant actions and their impacts always. Help me to encourage those around me.

"Purer in heart, O God, help me to be;
Teach me to do Thy will most lovingly;
Be Thou my Friend and Guide,
Let me with Thee abide;
Purer in heart, help me to be."

Amen.

this and that (and a freezer meal menu bonus)

So, it's been awhile ....again.

But it's all good.

Happy Fall.

My life has been so FULL of late - the new job is really coming together (btw, please go like our page on FB!) and the feedback I'm getting from our students just warms my heart. It makes me want to do better for them each day. Also, every day, no exaggeration, I come to work thinking, "What blessing is the Lord going to drop in my lap today?" And, every day, something arrives. 

I have NEVER been so aware of His workings in my life. At home. At work. At church. He is THERE.

**********

So this happened.

My daughter is now in high school and she went to her first homecoming last month.

I feel a bit overwhelmed with that tidbit of information. For multiple reasons.

1. While most of my NoCO colleagues are just beginning their families, I have one that is not so far from leaving the nest. It's a bit surreal.

2. I feel so old - like I have a high schooler!!! - and yet, I was 20 when my mother was the age I am now.

3. I was only 1 1/2 years older than Kelsey when I began dating my husband. She could potentially meet (or already know!) her forever friend with benefits in the near future. I'm not ready for that, and am reminded that we need to be on our knees in prayer for her and her future spouse.

*************

Today's sermon (10/25...it wasn't up yet at time of this post) was just amazing. It had a little bit of this, and a lot of You Matter Intimately to the INFINITE GOD OF THE UNIVERSE!

Please, go listen. It will lift your spirits no matter where you are at in life. If you have weathered some storms and are in the sunshine once again, it will foster a sense of gratitude and remind you of the blessing that hindsight is. If you are currently in the storm, it will speak to your heart and whisper truths that the world may be overpowering at present. Listen hard for the quiet but firm voice of truth.

You? 

Matter. 

In ways that are inconceivable. In ways that inspire hope. In ways that speak purpose into your life.

*********

Any mama that's on Facebook or Pinterest has seen the "X number of freezer meals in A Ridiculously SHORT Amount of Time," posts, and I have fallen prey. More often than not, it is batch cooking, making 2, 3, EVEN 4 of the same recipes, times several. Which is fine if you have a family that lives in a rut.

I can barely get my family to eat leftovers, let alone would be unscathed if I made them eat the same meals several times in a month.

The other thing is that some of these recipes are just.... meh.

While I cannot vouch for the quality of all these meals just yet, I was really pleased to get a variety of meals (only 2 are repeats) from Michelle Pleiter's blog. (I don't know her, just think I happened upon this post while social media-ing the other day.) BTW...if you freezer cook, this menu is available in Excel with the recipes hyperlinked and shopping list itemized.

Yes, I am a nerd. But a nerd who shares the love.

I only did some recipes that I figured should be tasty by the ingredients, (but added some of my own touches, too, like southern style hash browns - read: pre-diced potatoes - for the chicken pot pie and adding some celery to a couple of recipes).

But.

I have to warn you.

This takes a fair amount of time.

Those Pinterest mamas that say it only takes 2 hours must have a small army helping them chop, label, mix, and assemble, because it took me several hours.

That said.

Have a great week, all!

Deo gratias; a counting of blessings

For the solid presence of his arm around me as my eyes reluctantly opened this morning.

Deo gratias.

For the inexplicable peace a mother feels when all her children are under the same roof.

Deo gratias.

For the sparkle in her eyes last night and the newly acquired Mexican accent on her Spanish.

Deo gratias.

For the little one stumbling into my room at 6:30 whilst I was fighting wakefulness; his quiet assent to me noting I had to get up. But can I still get in your bed? The peace on his face as he instantly fell back into dreamland.

Deo gratias.

For the gentle breeze caressing me as I walked this morning, soaking up Your mountainous beauty of in the midst of suburbia around me.

Deo gratias.

For the sun-washed extravagance of that particular time of morning, golden halos bouncing off every still dew-kissed leaf, pine needle, and flower petal.

Deo gratias.

For good friends and neighbors that stopped and talked while I was out.

Deo gratias.

For kindly forcing all these awarenesses into my conscious observations. Because You know as well as I do, I'm prone to forget. That all of these things? They're borrowed. And You chose me to give them to.

Deo gratias.

For the quiet peace and happiness on my heart this morning.

Deo gratias.

For the graceful glide of the pelican overhead

Deo gratias.

Sometimes as mothers, we can get swept up in the frustrations, the struggles, The Hard Things. Understandably so, because there are a lot of them. As a Christian mother, I get frustrated with how "They rise up call her blessed" does not seem to apply to my life. How all the strife and petty arguments (heck, I'll be real, the kicking and screaming, and not always by me!) seem to overwhelmingly season the days.

But then sometimes, the Lord gives me a morning like this that totally restores my soul. 

The resulting gratitude colors the day in a way words could never do justice to. Not just for the things I remembered above, but for the chain of grateful thoughts they birth. Like, wow, all those are great, but then there's Christ and His sacrifice; thank you Savior. 

There's a lot of mindfulness buzz out there that talks about how we have to be aware of our thoughts (hmm, sounds familiar) and while I don't disagree with the concept, I do feel like it is one more thing we feel like we have to do On Our Own. 

Be strong, and soldier on in your life. 

That has its place. Though when you're in the trenches of tantrums, potty training, work-mama balance, teenage rebellion, or whatever other mama meltdown du jour faces you at any given moment, how much strength do you have to muster up the mindfulness? Usually? I. Got. NUTHIN.

And that's ok.

Did you know there's no shame in asking God to put these things on our minds for us? Or for allowing Him to speak through a good friend who will do the same?

There's a reason why the song is called Blessed Assurance.

Thank you Lord. For this day and all the yesterdays and tomorrows you've written for me. For the countless blessings You've showered up on me. Please keep me mindful of them.

an abiding mindfulness

It never ceases to strike wonder into me when I think of how small I am in the scheme of God's universe, and all the more so when those moments in life occur that I just know He personally crafted for me at that very moment.

And for the past two weeks, I have just been so awestruck as I've been able to see not just a moment that He tailored for me, but my entire lifetime.

Sit down, grab a cup of tea or joe and let's go in for the backstory. I promise you, it's good, for the Lord is good.

More than six years ago, I left work to be a SAHM with my kids. It was a huge change for me because so much of my identity was wrapped up in my work and a giant leap of faith for us as our number crunching that led us to the decision showed that it would be very tight, but doable.

Then the economy crashed. And our bottom line took a nose dive. But we mustered through.

Then when the baby came, I had a near fatal medical crisis that wracked up thousands in medical debt during a time when we were already struggling to meet our basic needs.

To say we had some doubts as to the soundness of our decision is a bit of an understatement. The physical and emotional recovery from the ordeal took a long time. The financial recovery took even longer. We nearly lost our house and had a vehicle repossessed during the aftermath. And the shame of looking good on paper but not being able to meet our needs just about killed me. I hated that though we had a moderate income, I worried constantly about money; if one of the kids got sick, would we have enough money for a co-pay to see the doctor? There were times I had to make choices about whether I should buy milk for the kids or gas for Seth to get to work. Because Seth earned a decent income, we didn't qualify for any type of assistance and yet my children were having to go without and wear thrift store clothing like I'd had to growing up in poverty. I felt like a failure, like the little white trash girl who thought she was going to be someone, but then ended up with a life not too different from the one she grew up with.*

*that is a lie that Satan tried to fool me with. While our finances were tough, our family dynamic, values, etc. have always been different from what I grew up knowing. Hard to see the forest for the trees when you're in the thick of it though.

We scrimped and saved and cut where we could. I started free-lancing as a grant writer for some of my old contacts. Eventually, it became clear that I HAD to go back to work. I looked for several months with a few interviews that were promising, but then didn't pan out. Finally, I took a job with a non-profit for a lot less pay than I'd made previously, but it was something, even after childcare costs took a a significant chunk out of it. That job was nothing short of a horrible nightmare, and after 90 days I was informed that I'd failed the probationary period, buh-bye. My confidence plummeted.

I then continued to look for work in any way I could find it. After 12 months and too many interviews to count, I landed a 3/4 time position with a local organization. The position was primarily administrative and somewhat of a step down for my previous experience and skill-set, but the hours were flexible for a mama with school-agers, the co-workers were amazing and the salary and benefits met our needs. I was content to stay there for several years, setting my previous ambitions aside as my Jacobean wrestle with God left me submitting my ideas of my purpose to His will.

Last fall I received a referral for grant-writing for an agency with which I used to coordinate back in my case management days. I became reacquainted with their programs and really fell in love with their model and mission. At the end of the year, their executive director went on to a different agency and I worked with the board president on a grant in the interim.

In March, my grandmother suffered a heart attack and my mother and I flew out to Washington to be with her, as reports were not clear as what her prognosis was. I had not been back to Washington in over a decade, and hadn't seen some of my relatives in over 20 years. Over the week that we were there, each night my mother and I would go back to our hotel and discuss the hardships and dark family secrets of our pasts. We cried a lot, looking back at the injustices that had been heaped upon our loved ones as a result of poverty, abuse, addictions, and  other severe family dysfunctions. 

A spark ignited in my soul, rekindling my initial desire for a career that helped people change their lives. I couldn't let people in need live a life of shame, rejection, and hopelessness; I needed to find a way to incorporate that desire into a career change and make an impact.

Less than a month later, I was looking at Facebook and saw an article from our paper about two local agencies merging; one of them was my grant client and they were going to be hiring a program director for it! I campaigned hard for this job. I did my homework and all the extra credit with God breathing inspiration and providing angels in the way of coaches for me all along the way. The interview process was grueling, and wrought with emotion for me.

A couple of weeks ago, I'd had the radio on a pop station that morning, but changed to Way FM when a song that drives me nuts came on. At the end of that day....which had been quite taxing in relation to the job pursuit, I was praying in the car on my way home, "Whatever your will is Lord, just let me do what you want me to be doing. I will be at peace, whatever you decide," while 10,000 Reasons played on the air. I started to sing along with this song that embodied what I had just uttered. At the beginning of the final chorus, I was stopped at a light when my phone buzzed with the e-mail that I was officially being offered the job! And when the composite of all the details of that moment registered in my consciousness, the ugly crying commenced. Ugly JOY-crying, that is.

So now, here I sit with a life that is relevant to those of the students my program is serving. I know their struggles first-hand. I have the career experience and business acumen that will help garner community support for our initiatives. And I have a God who has shaped my whole existence with the details I will need to excel in this position. It is really quite overwhelming the intricacy of His love and plans He has for us.

I'm so excited to see what He has in store for me. I start next Tuesday.

Behind the eight-ball...but it's all good!

So here I sit, almost 3 weeks since my last blog post - when I'd determined to write more frequently this year - and still yet to start the online bible study Made to Crave that started on the 19th.

But there's no self-flagellation this time, for I have two VERY GOOD REASONS for the silence.

1.) I've been more socially connected IRL (also a goal for the year as I spent a good portion of last year wanting to crawl into fetal position and hide from life).  I've been hanging out with girls from my MOPS group, seeing the bestie regularly, and all around investing more in lives of the folks I care about.

2.) I had a BIG INTERVIEW via phone on the 9th for a job I'd been praying about.  Followed by a face-to-face interview on the 13th.  I put a lot of prep time into these interviews as they were for a position I felt COULD BE THE ONE, you know, that forever job I would love and still be able to balance family with because it was only 3/4 time and amenable to school hours?  Yeah, that perfect storm was brewing, so I was miserly with my time and didn't get around to blogging.  The rest of that week was spent being busy so that I couldn't think about the wait...though I got an inkling that this would work out Thursday when my mentor/former boss texted that she'd been contacted for a reference and proceeded to rave about my abilities to them; this happened again in an e-mail Friday night from a fellow long-time non-profiter.  Sidenote: I have an amazing village of women in my life - locally and in my computer - and I am so blessed for each and every one of you!

Monday was MLK Jr. Day, and thus, another long wait that about drove me crazy (or maybe that was just having all three kids at home with little planned to do).  Tuesday morning, I got the kids all back to school, save for the girl child as her school had a special IB planning day much to the chagrin and "No fair"s of her brothers, and tried (unsuccessfully) not to will my phone into action.

At 9:48 am, my phone buzzed alive and caller ID showed the organization's number.  This was it.  The yes or no call.

I quickly told Kelsey to quiet the TV, this was about The Job, took a deep breath before answering, and kind of held it as the hiring supervisor introduced herself and did the whole "The reason why I'm calling is" preamble.  Then when she finally go the the part where she said, "And, I'd like to offer you the position," I breathed at last and this burden of the past 11 months' joblessness just fell off my shoulders while my soul simultaneously screamed silent gratitude to God.

I went in for my first day Thursday.  Yeah, consider that.  This time last week I didn't even know if I'd have a job, and now I've already got two days under my belt.  That is mind-boggling to me, still.  So the rest of Tuesday was filled with lots of squeeing on Facebook and also arranging morning care for the littlest guy (since he's only in pre-school in the afternoons), filling out transportation requests for him, and getting info to the school about the two ladies who are going to help watch him in the mornings so that they are authorized adults. Then I had to catch up all the housework so that everything was functioning come Thursday morning. It was insane how quickly Tuesday and Wednesday went by.

And the job - wow.  I just couldn't be happier or more blessed.

Despite only working 30 hours/wk, the organization considers that full-time for benefits purposes, so my portion of the premiums for medical, dental and vision are FULLY COVERED, and the family rate is affordable enough that we will all subscribe to my plan.  Also?  It is effective immediately.  No 90 day waiting period as is customary with many local employers.  Thus, we are happy to report that the rush to make sure we are in compliance with the Affordable Care Act mandate for coverage is over.

My schedule is 8:30-3:00 M-F which means I get home before my kids are done with school, so except for Christopher, not much is changing for the kids' time with me.

But the most amazing, makes-me-feel-so-grateful-and-see-God's-hand part in it?  Is the organizational culture.  It is CLEAR from a policy standpoint as well as the staff interactions that this is a place that values their employees and makes them aware of that at every turn.  The result is so much positive energy that I can't help smiling all day long.  I really have enjoyed getting to know my supervisor's personality and style, and am happy to report that we "click" very well.  On Friday, she and her boss, the medical director of the organization, met with me to go over more of the job duties and functions and they stressed to me how open and willing they are to send me to trainings that will help me grow and develop deeper skills helpful to my position.  I left the meeting feeling nurtured and ready to thrive.

2014 is off to a great new start!

"You and I, we're like diamonds in the sky.."

So...

Turns out, I have a pretty amazing husband.

This is not news to me, per se, I mean, eighteen years {fifteen of them married - we are getting O L D} with a person go by and you kinda should know what you got, amiright?

But this past week, I'm seeing him with renewed appreciation.  He shines brighter than ever.

He works a physically taxing job, despite a significant level of chronic pain, 10 hours a day, 5-6 days/wk. And then spends his Saturday doing the same job in a neighbor's garage to "help them out."  The man lives out Colossians 3:23 daily, doubly inspiring and blessing me as a result.

He is an active and engaged father - and his love speaks to our kids in ways mine can't.  He's the dad that is out playing with all the kids at church/school functions while the other parents socialize.  Currently, he's teaching a Wednesday night boys' class at our church, grades K-6 {what a spread!} and more boys are writing God's word on their hearts than I've seen in awhile.

He's a grade A smart mouth - which means he's quick, maddeningly so at times - and he entertains us all with his quips.  He's especially good at musical parody and can lighten a room's mood up almost instantaneously.

Even though gifts are not my love language, he still spoiled me above and beyond what I'd spent on him at Christmas with gifts that were thoughtful and just want I wanted/needed.  This was especially touching because I hadn't really communicated any ideas to him on account of I didn't really care what he got me because it is our time together, his praise and affections that mean the most to me.  He just knows me that well.

I love that his embrace totally envelopes me and his shoulders so readily absorb my tears when my demons try to breach their containment.  That over time, he's learned not to talk and explain away my feelings, but to hold me tight and soothe my pains as he patiently rides the wave of the moment with me.  That he's come to know my feelings are a whole process, and given time, I'll get over them.  And that his physical nearness and touch make me feel more secure in a world that's unpredictable and unfair.  Or when all is good and well, too ;)

But what really spoke to me, even though I hadn't specifically said I was low, is that he's astute enough to read between the lines -and then- act upon that intel.  I'm a words of affirmation girl, through and through, and the more people who hear/read them, the better I feel.  Typing that makes me feel incredibly shallow, like I'm a fisher of compliments, but it's more like the Proverb says:

Pleasant words are as a honeycomb, sweet to the mind and healing to the body 

^^^ That?  Is Serious Romance in the 21st century for the words of affirmation types, y'all.

Babe, you make me feel better, but moreover, you make me want to be better.  Here's to another wild and crazy year.  I love you.  You shine so much, but we shine brighter together, you and me.

When you hold me, I’m alive / We’re like diamonds in the sky**

** Yes, I know the song is about drugs.  But I'm claiming interpretive license here. 

Origins of the "red-headed stepchild"

Editor's Note: When I started this blog in 2006, I initially titled it "Ramblings of a Red-Headed Stepchild." I changed it several years back to Heather in the Making to more accurately reflect what my writing is all about.

Never once had I thought to research the origin of the phrase "red-headed stepchild," for I thought I knew what it meant and why. My family of origin used this phrase quite frequently, as there are a number of redheads on the maternal side of my lineage, including myself. Apparently, my paternal DNA has a history of red-heads too, but we'll get to that later.

My mother's cousin, Shelly, had hair approximate to the shade of Ronald McDonald's.

Then there was Aunt Ardell, my great-grandmother's sister, who had "peach" hair - as I knew her anyway. -Peach hair is the demise of redheads who age without going gray, and instead go white; it's a curious phenomenon that makes me giggle.

Grandma has always had gray hair, at least that's how my memories serve...but old family pictures show her with hair similar to the color mine's turning out to be; a coppery auburn that is clearly red to some, and only kinda red to others.

Then my son, he's got hair that most would call strawberry, though his older sister, age 5, tells him it's "orange."

Growing up in my family, Shelly received most of the red-headed stepchild comments, and for good cause as she was star of many of the family's memorable moments. Shelly was always pulling practical jokes in public. This often resulted in a family member saying, "Don't look at me, she's the red-headed stepchild!" Most of the time, in this context, red-headed stepchild was meant to equate something akin to the family idiot. Other times, when Shelly embarrassed one of us - often - red-headed stepchild was used similarly to the phrase "black sheep of the family." It was always a good-natured rib at her.

Soon, though, I received the red-headed stepchild brand. In my case it was more literal.

The product of two 16 y/o's who had no business having a child at that point in life, I grew up not knowing my biological father, and Mom quickly moved on to my first stepfather, who was the father of my 3 siblings. I had red hair; I was the step-child of our family - it fit.

Which brings me to my research...

To tell the truth, I only thought to research it because I used it in my blog title! So upon discovering the origins of the red-headed stepchild, I was a little dismayed at the dark connotations...and later, the ironic applicability to my own childhood.

In short, I found the term is often preceded by "I'll beat you like a..." - something that my ears had never heard. Apparently the reasons for the direction of violence toward such a child are attributed to:

--assumed illegitimacy of the red-headed stepchild - the red hair being an obvious indicator of a different father
--the mythic fiery temperament of a red-head combining with the sullen attitude of a stepchild

And perhaps the worst fact about the phrase?
It's interchangeable with the phrase "I'll beat you like a rented mule." Somewhere along the crossroads of societal beliefs and the etymological path, a stepchild became equivalent to an animal loathed by many, used by all.

Sadly, the things that created this phrase did hold true for me while growing up. My stepfather never accepted me, despite his claims that he "loved like one of his own." He was occasionaly abusive and did beat me like a red-headed stepchild.

It's pretty ironic to me now, knowing the history of the term, that what I always thought of as my own superficial, yet literal, label would so accurately describe my childhood...

Any other etymological biographies out there? Hmmm.....