#thisistheface

My last post was a turning point - a point wherein I had resigned myself to a truth I'd been unwilling to embrace for a long time.

I have depression.

Long-term, never going away, incurable albeit manageable, depression.

In April, I knew that I needed to get help.  Again.  So I re-enlisted in therapy and made an appointment to see my primary care physician.  I'm happy to say that I found my "forever med" in Wellbutrin and am finding my old, "normal" self a bit more every day.

And now I have a recovery story to tell that isn't so much like some huge, dramatic Lifetime movie as much as it is me screaming to the public and anyone with ears to hear in my little communities around me that I am the poster child to illustrates the potential for a depressed person who goes unchecked because, "she seems to handle so much so well."

It's been 5 months.  I am doing great as the light at the end of the tunnel grows bigger and brighter and nearer every day.  So why say something, why feel compelled to evangelize about depression now?  I mean, it's not like I've never broached the subject before, but why so passionate now?

Because three things.

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Because of Robin Williams.

Glennon's response to the news of his death said everything I thought and felt for days:

When we mentally ill find out that one of us was taken, we feel sad, yes – but mostly we feel afraid. Monday night I was going about my business and all was well-ish and then I read the news and suddenly fell still and silent with fear. I felt shamed- like the universe had caught me red-handed with too much peace in my grubby little hands. Like I was getting too free and healthy and big for my britches and so I needed to be put in my place.

In the wake of Robin Williams' death, hundreds of bloggers weighed in and people opined on social media.  Some posts were compassionate.  Others were not, simply spewing opinions and unsound (some downright false) "facts" to huge channels, often Christian audiences.

And the ignorance must be fought.

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Then, because Sunday at church, (we're talking about Hard Things - one of the many things I love about my church - and how to deal, particularly with Addiction) we broached the topic of prescription drug abuse, you know painkillers, sleeping pills, hard core anti-anxiety drugs, etc., when somehow, antidepressants and other psychotropic meds got lumped into the mix and I felt my face go hot.

Seth was in another room prepping for the worship he was about to lead.  So I was on my own with this.

The room began to close in on me as I felt the judgment, the impending, "If people just choose joy/pray hard to God/insert some other well intended but horribly wrong mental health prosperity gospel" platitudes that would cause the familiar and all-too-dangerous echo of doubt begin to play in my head.

Comment after comment came from the audience about how we are quick to just ask for a pill instead of working toward recovery the "hard way," that people just want to be numb and escape their issues.

All of which I agreed with, as pertains to the root of addictions.  That's when it hit me, and my shame turned to indignance.  I raised my hand and said, "Excuse me," with a tone that came out more harsh than earnest, "but I think we need to be very careful in our comments and comparisons here.  People who abuse prescription medicines to achieve an altered state of mind, or high, is one thing.  People who take medicines, as prescribed, to effectively manage a brain disorder that is a medical condition is quite different."

My point was conceded and acknowledged, but then the conversation turned back to more of the same.

I sat there for a few moments, as my love for the individuals in the audience warred with my desire to scream, much like Jesus did at the moneychangers, that they were all very, very wrong and Had No Damned Idea .

Instead I left the room and sought solace in a bathroom stall where I let some silent sobs free.  Some women, wise to my struggles and recent return to living medicated, came in and supported me with words of validation.

Upon leaving the bathroom, class was over and several other ladies I love came and talked with me, again offering support in the hallway.  Later that day, two older women told me they appreciated my comment in class, that it needed said.

But beloveds, as grateful as I am for those sideline nuggets of affirmation, these hallway assents to truth in hushed voices, these are the truths that need to be testified boldly, bravely, up front and center, and from people who've experienced the darkness and its unrelenting pursuit for their souls to shake the scales regarding depression from the eyes of everyone in our churches.

And conversations need to be taking place.

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Finally.

The third because is because yesterday I went to a funeral with my 6th grade son for one of the students at his school, who, at the tender age of just 13, intentionally, tragically gave his life up last Friday night.

It needs to be ok to be sad.  It needs to be ok to seek help.  It needs to be ok to ask someone if s/he needs help.  And it damned well needs to be ok to treat depression with meds if necessary.

We have to be kind.  And care for one another in word and in deeds.

And lives need to be saved.

Out of the darkness / And into the Son

Today was so full of symbolism, one might think I'd converted to Catholicism (not that there is anything wrong with Catholicism, folks, it's just that their faith practices seem so much more symbolic and mystical than the more literal Protestant takes on Christianity, in my very humble opinion).

As I laced up my shoes, hooked up the dog to the waist leash, and punched in the right sequences on my phone to start Pandora and MapMyRun, the emergent scents of spring - the willow's unfurling leaves, warming earth and greening grass - made it to my consciousness, whispering the hope of better days ahead.

It'd been cloudy all day - uncharacteristically overcast after such a gorgeous and clear spring day the day before.  But at about mile 2 of my totally spontaneous run*, I turned west toward the setting sun and realized, the clouds were all but gone as Kelly Clarkson's Breakaway triumphantly climaxed in my ears:

Out of the darkness and into the sun / But I won't forget the place I come from

* Totally tangential side-story: tonight I was supposed to go with my co-workers to this Nat'l Public Health Week networking event, and my husband and I finagled the schedule such that he got off work early and was able to pick up #3, drive #2 to LAX and pick #1 up from play practice in order to allow me this event.  It was nothing short of an act of Congress trying to get it all set-up, but alas! My co-workers all bailed for varying, and legit, reasons, so I found myself with some rare spare time, and took it to pound some pavement. 

So, I know you're dying to know, "What's with all the symbolism, Heather?  What does it MEAN?!?"  Or maybe not, since there is no "you" as readers anymore since I've blogged with the consistency of a hundred year drought in the past 4 years.

You see, it's been a hard week for me....for several weeks.

I've been fighting depression again, for who knows how long now.

Denial is a pretty powerful and destructive force to be reckoned with, because it got me good.   Again.

I can't put my finger on a particular trigger, or really say that I was cognizant of the symptoms picking up speed, I just know that I've been doing what I've always done, and soldiering on all by my lonesome.

The desire to sleep all the time?  Written off by the fact that it has remained just that, a desire.  I looked Depression in the eyes and said, "'Scuse me??  Do you not know who I am?  Moreover, what I am?  I am a Working Mom of Three, there is no rest for the weary, silly Depression!  What is this sleep thing of which you speak and who are you to dangle that in front of me when it's not even an option - stupid, that's who.  Yeah, Depression, you are Stupid."

As my daughter is prone to conclude when she's put forth a lacking argument, "So....yeah!"

I imagine Denial just chuckled knowingly and elbowed Depression in the ribs.  "We're a great team.  She ain't gonna know what hit her."

I guess I really started to see it in my concentration and focus.  My attention to detail was slipping, and it flustered me when I'd catch a mistake I'd made.  Stupid things like making scheduling mistakes in Outlook at work, or obvious (to me) edits that went uncaught.  I told myself perhaps I was just rusty, having been out of the working world for 5 years and it would take some time to get back in the swing of things.

I was ok.

I was on top of it.  Nothing to see here!

But then, the Thoughts came flooding in, mercilessly.

When I'd make one of those silly mistakes, my mental voice (not audible hallucinations, but you know that inner dialogue everyone has?  No?  Just me? Heh....) just wouldn't let up with the castigation; think the most brutal version of Mean Girls ever.  How could you be so stupid, I mean really, you're supposed to be smart, but Lord how you've dumbed down!  You'll never get it back, either.  Look at you, how you're trying so hard to rise above and "breakaway," but it's all for naught.  You're doomed to stay a white-trash nobody. 

And, it's not like I was so stupid and easily cowed over that I just believed everything I said in my head.  No, I raised my shield and tried to wield the Word of God and interchangeably channel Stuart Smalley.  Nope, I am a precious Lamb, a diamond in God's eye.  My worth isn't in things, or deeds, or intellect.  I am valuable because I am who I was created to be!  I'm smart enough, I'm good enough, and gosh darnit, people like me!

But the Thoughts are relentless.  They almost never stop.  And it is exhausting trying to counter them with truth ALL THE TIME.

This mental exhaustion is what gets me Every Time.  It is the chink in my mental health armor that invariably lets some barb in that will wound me in some fashion.  And then, boom!   In come more Thoughts when I'm down and before long the really Dark Thoughts come.

Most of the time I recognize the Dark Thoughts as the deceptive bullies they are, but sometimes they are so cruelly convincing that I wonder if ever there could come a time that I would lose my solidarity and fall prey to them.  Because even though I am a Working Mom of Three and I know those little people DESPERATELY NEED me more than I can really grasp, sometimes the Dark Thoughts try to persuade me into thinking that I really am messing them up more than I am growing them into beings who will ultimately become well-adjusted adults, that they could be happier if I just freed them from the craziness that I have become, and on and on with the tormenting thoughts that pull at my mama heartstrings.  It seems so cruel that Depression would use a woman's very desire to be a good mother for her children and pervert it this way to use against her.  But that's the nature of the beast.  And, because it is my own mind fighting against me, there are other good things unique to me that Depression pits against me, knowing they are tender spots.

Depression is darkness.  As is Shame, Depression's all-too-often present sidekick.

But that's where I break the mold.

As shameful as Depression would have me feel about the fact that I have a dysfunctional brain, that I can't just "get over it," I am an over-sharer at the core.  Which is embarrassing sometimes, but more often than not, has led to many powerful moments where the other person says, "Me too."  These Me Too Moments have saved my life more times than I can count in my 34 years.  So here I am.  Sharing, in the event that this may be a Me Too to someone who hasn't yet vocalized their struggle and happen across this page.

and because I am a Kelly Clarkson groupie, singing:

Everybody's got a dark side / Do you love me? /Can you love mine?

So, all of that to say, that tonight was the first night in a long time that I felt hope instead of despair, that I felt the promise of Spring and the assurances of my God that behold, He is making New Life!

So with that, I'm out of the closet (of depression, y'all!).  Navigating some options to take care of this, trying to put one foot in front of the other every day.

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. 

On being wanted...{Lord, do I gots issues}

Disclaimer #1 - Mom, if you're reading this, this is no way a reflection of our current relationship {all good!} but is a brutiful-ly honest look inside my issues.

Disclaimer #2 - Despite my seemingly confident and capable exterior, I'm a rather raw ball of paradoxical emotions at any given time.  If you're reading this and you know me in the IRL, I probably don't want to talk further about what I'm about to write - unless you're cut from a similarly broken cloth and wish to say, "Hey, me too."  This is for the people who haven't opened up yet - to let them know they are not alone, as I feel an odd compulsion to bare my soul tonight.

Ok, now that the legalese is out of the way...

From my earliest sense of awareness, I always felt unwanted.

Maybe it had something to do with hearing the words "mistake" or "accident" when the question of my conception arose in conversation.  Maybe it had a lot of something to do with, at age 5, hearing the family lore of how my Real Dad left town, having stolen my 16 y/o mother's paper route money to get the hell out of Dodge, just a day after I was born.

Shortly after my mother's younger sister {then 11} dropped that bomb on me, my biological father returned to town and approached my mother about wanting to see me.  I can't recall if he was clean yet and my mom had doubts or if she knew for sure he was still drugging it up, but regardless, she told him no, and then tried her best to warn me that he wanted me, but couldn't have me because he had done some bad things that made it so he couldn't be with me, especially alone.  He might take me, kidnap me, and that would be very, very bad.  All I knew of him at that point was the 9th (?) grade yearbook picture of him, in which he was wearing hideous seventies fashion and had longer hair than I'd seen on any man I knew personally.

One night, I was playing at my grandmotherly next-door-neighbor's yard.  Her daughters were the same ages as my mother and aunt (which was unusual in that there is a 10 year split in age), but at this point in my life, I was only aware of her 12 y/o daughter, who would play with me on occasion.  The elder daughter and her husband were visiting, and being close friends of my mom's from the past, they knew me, but my six-year-old self did not recognize them.  When her husband said, "Hello, Heather" and began walking toward me talking about how big I'd gotten, all my terrified little brain could say was, "Unknown Man Knows Your Name And Is Gonna Kidnap You!  RUN!!! SCREAM!!!!!"  So I did, horrified at the prospect of being wanted enough to get stolen.  The nightmares began shortly after that, in which my yearbook-picture father would break into our house, freeze my family members into stone (like Medusa - yes, even at age six, I had a major interest in Greek mythology) and leave with me, kicking and screaming into the night, which is usually where I'd wake up.  I vividly remember having these nightmares repeatedly for at least a year.

So on the one hand, feeling unwanted was lonely and painful and yet, a feeling to which I grew accustomed; on the other hand, being wanted was a terrifying and sinister thing to avoid.

I know the sense of being unwanted was heightened as my siblings came along; I was not my stepfather's child, but they were.  Later, this sense rose to a climax for me when I was 12, and my mother had been gone one weekend with nary a word to anyone about where she was.  Upon her return, when I tearfully asked her why she would do such a thing, why she would have scared us so much, she told me I was the reason why.  That because I was born when she was still so young, she hadn't gotten to fully live and have fun, so she took the chance to do just that. She was still flying high and didn't mean it.  Or at the very least, she didn't mean to actually say it aloud, but her inhibitions were out the window.  And some things just can't be unsaid, particularly in a young girl's head.

Implicit in all of it was that I was a burden, that while I was unwanted, I was still there and dealing with my needs was an obligatory drag.  Exacerbating these feelings was the fact that all the family drama and dysfunction often left my parents unable to meet many of my emotional, and sometimes physical, needs; over time I arrived at two mantras to live by:

1. Nobody wants you

2. The only one who can take care of you is you

So I set out to make people want me by way of achievement.  For many years, the praise of my teachers was, in large part, what fed my need for love and acceptance.  I was strong and confident because I relied on myself to feel good and make things happen for myself.  {Later, a keen awareness of this pattern's unhealthy extension into my adult life, by way of my career path, was ultimately what lead me to quit working out of the home and work on just being with my God, husband, and children.}

While still a perfection-seeking, worth-is-determined-by-merit-thinking slave, I met my would-be husband, and through him, Christ.  Just like in my marriage, my walk with Christ is often {needlessly}complicated because of my brokenness and life-long patterns of distrust in others' ability to give me what I crave: acceptance and a sense of "I chose YOU."

I also run into trouble when I try to do everything myself.  It's not so much that I think God CAN'T do it, because uh, you know He can do the impossible {except that if I'm totally being one hundred percent truthful, that doubtful thought may have crossed my mind a time or two}, as much as it is I don't want to burden Him with my concerns and needs and risk Him looking at me with Reluctant Obligation as opposed to the Unconditional, NOTHING Can Separate You From The Love of Christ LOVE, {NOTHING!} He's shown me so freely over the years. I fear that He'll become one of the many who've let me down in life if I trust Him or bother Him too much.  Which is crazy, if you think about it.  He's Unending Love, Boundless Joy, and Abundant Life.  There is no obligation, no burden too heavy for God.  And over and over and over in Scripture we are told that He is nothing if He isn't faithful.

But there you have it - that is my default, maladaptive coping mechanism, to bottle up and soldier through with the insistence that I CAN SO DO THIS MYSELF BECAUSE I'M AFRAID YOU'LL LET ME DOWN IF I LET YOU  SEE THE CHINKS IN MY ARMOR.

So, when we started to struggle with finances this spring as a result of my job loss - I hit the job seeking hard.  I would get a job and help get us out of this hole, and it would soon be a distant memory.  One month passed.  Two..  Three..... Four, and well, we've been really struggling with What Does The Future Hold?  Especially as we got behind on our mortgage....again.  {After the medical bills from four years ago peaked simultaneous to the impact from recession, we entered foreclosure status a couple of years ago and worked very diligently for 18 months to finally secure a loan modification last fall.}

Last week, we were pushing 45 days late with the mortgage when Seth got paid.  On Tuesday his paycheck was $1,000 less than his previous paycheck before it had been, roughly $500 less than the average we try to budget for. We were devastated. A few essential bills (car insurance, student loan, phone, tool payment) and groceries came out and 2 days later, we had $29 in the acct, plus a bit of cash ($40ish) to get us through the next two weeks.

On Thursday, independent from any job application or pitch, I got a call from a former consulting client asking me if I'd work with them.  I was thrilled and my psyche got a much needed dose of "they want me!"  I also was convinced that this was God providing just what we needed at just the right time.  I praised Him and shared with our elders and ministers just how dire things had gotten, how God had heard us and asked them to join us in celebration at His provision.

Then I got a second call.

Turns out there'd been a slight change of plans sometime between the staff meeting where the organization decided to invite my help wherein one of the staffers had been instructed to call me and the actual making of the call, but it never got communicated.  The higher ups decided to go with a PR firm instead upon further thought but had not yet informed their staffer of the change.

And just like that, my case was proven.  See, God, see??!!??  You let this happen, You got my hopes all up and then?  NO GOOD!  Why should I trust You?  You're like all the rest.

And He was like, Wait. For. It.....You'll see.

Whatever.  So I sent another e-mail, saying, roughly, "Well, no dice.  Uh, Habakkuk 3:17-18?  I dunno what's going on, but please keep praying."

Friday, I got a call from one of the recipients of my e-mails saying, "I hope you don't mind, but I told our benevolence folks about your needs.  We can help you, we just need a number."

All this time, I've been trying to get us through on my power.  Refusing to Just. Ask. For. Help.

Not out of pride as much as thinking our needs were too much and how dare I ask for That Much?  Also, the Hardship Olympics show up in my head, you know, when you do that thing that's supposed to cheer you up, but it really just makes you feel guilty and worse, when you think of people who have it worse off than you and need the help that much more? Yeah. I do that.  A lot.

Anyway, today I talked with our church's benevolence ministry leader, and told him our number.  It was large, and humbling to admit the level of help we needed.

But God provides.  Abundantly.

The key is to Just Ask.  Ask without shame.

7 “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. 8 For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.9 “Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? 10 Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? 11 If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him! 12 So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets.

 Lord, I hear You saying, "See, my child?  I can give you what you need, want to give great things to you, just ASK ME.  I love you, my dear, for I CHOSE you.  Knit you in your mother's womb, it was no accident - you are because I wanted you to be."

I hear you loud and clear, and feel your love and hope you know how much I love you back.  I know now this whole job fiasco happened so you could show me this.  You had a purpose, and I get it.  Thank you for being faithful, for placing my feet on solid ground, and helping me to work through my weaknesses - through which Your Power is made perfect.  And thank you for all of the sweet friends who've been walking with me and my family at this time.  I love them all so much too.

You're pretty amazing - ya know?  Bet you never heard that before! ;o)

Notes to myself...

So, last week I passed the 2 month mark of being involuntarily unemployed.  And it's not for lack of trying.  

I've had 4 interviews, with 3 different employers, and later received the round of rejection letters from every. last. one. of them.  

Ouch.

That stings.

And because we decided to keep Christopher in the daycare/preschool to 1.) keep his routine, 2.) keep his care, and 3.) make me available to take interviews, we are still paying a cost that was originally carried by my income.  Only now I don't have that income, so despite all our debt paying down and budgeting....we have more expenses on one income with daycare than we did without daycare but with a car payment. 

It's always something, it seems, that eats away at any semblance of our financial stability.

And then that instability adds to all my other insecurities {that I yell too much, do too little, put back the weight I lost, etc} and I have a big, fat, meanie of a voice in my head saying: YOU SUCK!  All the time.  

So, I'm trying to quiet that voice and replace it with a calmer, gentler soul that reminds me of the things that are True.

Remember:

Including other versions of yourself, both who you may have once been and/or who you wanted to be.

I struggle with everything but the top one. 

YES!!  This is soooooooo me.  Er...WAS soooooooo me.  I'm going to be here, I'm going to be  here....

 

=

Yes, it's been a month since I posted my last post.

The social media dust has settled some regarding the supreme court's pending ruling on gay marriage, as people have changed their profile pics back to themselves from their equality symbol.

I never changed mine to an equality sign.  Partly due to my belief that slacktivist reactions such as re-posting and sharing pictures doesn't actually change things.  It was also partly due to my fears of upsetting people whom I love and respect who see this issue much differently than I do.  Knowing that has made me upset with myself, and to any GLBTQ friends I may have out there, I'm sorry.

I meant to follow up on my last post - meant to elaborate and use the adulterous woman, the Samaritan woman, the prostitute who washed Jesus' feet as parallels to GLBTQ folks in today's world.  I meant to ask some tough questions, and get some healthy dialogue going like Niki and Becky, because, honestly, like Joy, I'm not sure as a Christian how I feel about condemning homosexuality, even though I know what the Bible says.  But I also wasn't sure I wanted to say that I cherry-picked the parts of the Bible I adhere to, or at least be perceived as saying as much, like Glennon did in this post.

So, I didn't.

Partly because I've been busy (job-hunting is time-consuming, yo).  But mostly?  Mostly I was afraid it would make some people at church see me differently.  Which is ridiculous, you know?  Especially because LOVE, as in that perfect kind of love authored by Christ, does not entertain fear, does not breed it, doesn't even coexist with it because it drives fear the heck outta one.  At least, that's what my Bible tells me in 1 John 4:18.

But the topic just won't go away in my life.

It came up by way of Boy Scouts of America since Seth is a Cub Master for Colton's Cub Scout pack.

I can't tell you how many times we received an e-mail from National Council asking for us to complete a survey with a special indicator that would tell HQ that we had provided our input to the proposal they were considering regarding policies toward gays in scouts.  I'd say we got that particular e-mail 3, maybe 4 times, even though we filled the survey out twice.

Bottom line for us - we would keep working with Scouts regardless of their policy stance.  Scouting is not a publicly funded organization, thus, we respect their right to reserve membership as a matter of their freedom to do so.  That said, I felt it would be contrary to the BSA's call to be good citizens and treat anyone from any walk of life with respect.  I don't fear gay pedophiles infiltrating scouts and violating boys anymore than I do pedophiles who identify as straight; a fear which is virtually nonexistent due to the BSA policy of two-deep leadership.  BSA has strong religious roots, but they are not supposed to be sectarian, thus, I do not see how keeping gay Unitarians who do not feel they are violating God is in keeping with the organization.

I did get frustrated when the vote decided that scouts could be openly gay, but leaders could not.  So what happens to boys who advance all the way through, decide to come out, maybe have a family later or just wish to continue as a leader on their own, and they are denied?  What about the outdoorsy gay dads who have adopted (or have biological kids) sons who want to do scouts with them?

It came up at Pinewood Derby among some of the moms, and I was the minority regarding the matter.  Which is fine, I understand that people are going to have different ideas and we don't all have to agree.  And the opinion sharing was done amicably.  The part that hurt my heart, though, was when I asked what about men in leadership who have habitual sins in their life (i.e. pornography, lying, addictions, adultery, etc) that are still ongoing, how come that is ok, and basically I was told that in those instances, their sins weren't public and were between God and that man.

I guess, if that works for people to swallow that, but it grieves my heart that so many Christians have accepted this idea about secret sin, with its implicit teachings (because yes, your secret habits are totally visible in the way you act and kids pick up on these things, often embrace them too) as ok.  I don't follow that.  In fact, the overarching message I get from the Bible is that God wants, has always wanted, our hearts.  He's like that old Cheap Trick song: I want you to want me, I need you to need me, I'd love you to love me...  Our actions, public and especially private, extend from our hearts - Proverbs 4:23-26, Matthew 12:34 and Luke 6:45 - and it is particularly easy to publicly serve God, but if we say it is ok to sin when all eyes are off of us...then our hearts are not His.

Then there is the issue of same-sex marriage.  It was in my FB feed today b/c Colorado has passed legislation in favor of civil unions and there was a story by the newspaper being promoted.  It wasn't long before religion got brought up in the comments section.  Even if it was a universally held belief by Christians that homosexuality was a sin that absolutely had to be abstained from (as opposed to infidelity, gluttony, and other equally important sins that while classified as such, still happen from time to time and it's all good because grace, right?), last I checked, we are a democracy not a theocracy.  I don't get why the hullabaloo about giving same-sex couples the same rights that married men and women enjoy.  I don't understand why people do not see this as the civil rights issue that it is, and I also do not see why, despite Scripture's admonition for us to leave judgment for non-believers to God, so many insist on decrying that God's law is being violated.  Also, where was all of this religious mob when divorce laws became so lax that hetero marriage became a laughingstock in this nation?

And finally...I woke up with gay news on the radio this morning.  See, the husband's alarm radio is a sports talk show, and obvs the big news is Jason Collins coming out.  It was encouraging talk, accepting talk, and it just made me know that I needed to finally get this all off of my chest.

In the end, if nothing else, perhaps my Christian friends and I can leave my stance at 'a disputable matter,' (I'll even count myself as the one with weaker faith if it helps) and move on, together.  Because I still believe in Jesus, and I still believe that everyone's (big finger pointing at self) a sinner and needs Him, and that's what really matters, isn't it?

 

Mercy's Fool

This post has been in the makings for a LONG time....in my head.  Recent events have only convinced me that now is the time to write it - probably in a series as my thoughts are SO numerous.  This process is completely indicative of what I want HeatherInTheMaking to be, a safe place to reflect, grow, and revise as needed.

She was cold, trembling with shame as the telltale signs of her chill were exposed, visible through the thin linen underdress, the customary sadhin, that she wore.  "Will they punish me and call me a harlot for this as well?" she wondered.  She crossed her arm over her breasts to conceal the evidence of her discomfort.  The men had taken her without allowing her to put her outer robes back on.  Her thin, almost threadbare, sadhin was a woefully inadequate grasp at any remaining shred of modesty she could claim, and offered no protection from their eyes.

Though she suffered the painful awareness of every carnal need her body was crying out for - warmth, food, drink, and sleep - she remained quietly aloof.  She knew the risk of her actions…that she had willfully sinned against the law.  To become hysterical and beg for undeserved mercy would do nothing for her but subject her to further judgment and cruelty.  She was exhausted, but death was certain, and despite her captors' own periodic dozing, she resisted to sleep, reliving the all-too-few memories she had of feeling loved, safe, protected in her life before it would all be taken from her.

Clearly these 'men of God' had no interest in following the letter of Moses' law, or else Nachum would be here with her, he just as guilty as she.  Nachum, her beloved, who had loved her their whole lives, and mourned the day her parents married her off to that horrid old man she now called husband. Nachum, who had tenderly kissed away the bruises left by Jubal.  Nachum, whose scent still lingered on her skin.  Did he know of her plight, and despair, realizing death was unavoidable?  Or, the more cynical side of her wondered, was he sated to have finally known her, relieved to face no consequence?  That thought stole her breath away, striking her heart with a searing pain far more excruciating than any of Jubal's beatings. "No," she pleaded silently with herself, "Nachum is an honorable man."  He had told her that first night that he was prepared to face death with her if they were ever found out, that he would rather die in the sin of loving her than live a righteous life, without her love.  Hot tears slid down her face at the memory leaving wet trails in the dusty floor as they fell.

Yeshua.  Throughout the night, she heard the elders who were awake talking, most of it unintelligible, frantic whispering.  But that name kept presenting itself in their discussions.  "Who is this Yeshua?" she wondered.  "No matter," she eventually decided. "Dawn is approaching and my fate will be sealed soon enough."  As the men were selectively following the law, she wondered if she would even be given the requisite trial before they executed her for her sin....

The story of the woman caught in adultery has been on my mind a lot in recent months.  As illustrated above, I've imagined many different scenarios that could be the back-story to what we read in John 7:53-8:11.  In addition, I've done quite a bit of reading regarding the story's authenticity, as my Bible has a disclaimer above this passage: [The earliest manuscripts and many other ancient witnesses do not have John 7:53—8:11. A few manuscripts include these verses, wholly or in part, after John 7:36, John 21:25, Luke 21:38 or Luke 24:53.]  I believe to my core that this passage is authentic because it rings true with Jesus' reactions to the Samaritan woman at the well and that of the sinful woman's washing of his feet with her hair, tears and perfume.  It is a story of love and mercy, which is what Jesus is all about, and has been a go-to passage for me throughout my faith journey because it resonates with me so loudly.

Last quarter, my church had an amazing, thought-provoking, and controversial class highlighting the book UnChristian: What a New Generation Really Thinks About Christianity and Why it Matters  - which talked, among other things, largely about how in America, Christianity has become too political, too judgmental, and too homophobic, in the eyes of many outside and inside the church.  It spoke to my liberal-leaning heart and really caused me to stop and think, "Just what do I really believe and how do I live [or not] out those beliefs every day?"  Then we covered another book by the same author, You Lost Me: Why Young Christians are Leaving Church ... and Rethinking Faith, in which I saw myself described when the author described a group of people he called Exiles:

…let’s define exiles as those who grew up in the church* and are now physically or emotionally disconnected in some way, but who also remain energized to pursue God-honoring lives. They feel the loss, in many ways, of the familiar church environment in which they once found meaning, identity, and purpose. They feel lost, yet hopeful. (75)
…many of today’s exiles…feel isolated and alienated from the Christian community — caught between the church as it is and what they believe it is called to be. (77)

*I did not grow up in the church, but have walked with Christ {or let Him drag me, kicking and screaming at times} for almost half my life now.  

Huge plug for my church - we are asking the tough questions and testing the spirits rather than complacently regurgitating platitudes that often don't even have a scriptural root.  Though I sometimes feel lost and that my personal understanding of God is too different from many of theirs, I know that they love me, will love me, no matter what.  And that, friends, is no small potato.  I mean, I know this is true of God, but my fellow human beings whose hearts can harden with flawed understanding?

How do I know, like really know, deep within my bones, that these people have my back, and will always have my back?  Will always pray for me and love me even if my doctrine differs from theirs, even if I admit to doing heinous things?

I know this because last Wednesday over 100 of us, roughly 1/3 of our body, took time off work and drove 80ish miles round-trip to sit for hours in a courtroom to show our love and beg mercy for a brother who was admittedly guilty of a grievous sin.  It is easy for anyone to stand up for someone who has been wronged, but to stand up for someone who has done wrong, repeatedly and intentionally?  The prosecutor alleged that our brother had "bamboozled" us, and that was tough to swallow, but here is the fact of the matter:  For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.

Our brother did wrong, and he deserved the full punishment of the law, just as the woman from John's story was guilty of adultery in the eyes of the Law.  But we as Christians serve a God who says, "Let any one of you who is without sinful desires* be the first to throw a stone..."  * Yes, the original language apparently translates to sinful desires, as in wants and thoughts of the heart and is not necessarily limited to sinful things someone has actually done.  And mercy, like grace, is not earned or deserved, it is a granting of favor.  The difference is that mercy mitigates a punishment while grace is a gift.  The two are often co-mingled, especially in Christian theology.

Over the past year, we'd watched our brother work to right his wrongs, paying back as much as he could through the sale of his home, retirement account, and humble wages as a janitor.  We'd seen him atrophy and waste away with grief over the devastation his sin had caused for all involved parties, his employer, his family, and his community.  We'd seen him repent.  Those things are all bonus - as the woman in the story does not indicate remorse or changed behavior.  But, Jesus didn't require it from her before granting mercy, either.  He offered mercy to her where she was at, guilty, and then admonishes her to walk the straight and narrow.  He teaches us to first and foremost, examine ourselves and show mercy to others in response.  

That, my friends, is why we all showed up at court last week - not because we felt jail was undeserved, not because in all other aspects our brother was a good man, not because we wished to minimize his actions, not because he 'bamboozled' us into thinking a lesser punishment was warranted.  We showed up because we love him, will continue to love on him and his family during his imprisonment, and love always hopes, even when it is foolish to do so.  I've never been prouder to be part of my church than I was that day, because we embodied Love, the kind of Love that defies conventional understanding and seems radical to people on the outside.  It made me feel like less of an exile and more of a member, for sure.

I believe that God did hear our prayers and sway the judge to a merciful ruling, lessening it from what it could have been.  It was not absolute mercy, the lightest sentence available, but it was also not the maximum and there is something to be said for that.  Now, I'm just praying for beauty from ashes.

The Big Existential Comeback

You know how in life you have friends in school, college, work, etc. that are your best friends during the time you're together, but then life events like moving, graduating, new jobs, new kids, new homes, etc., etc., take you away from each other and you drift apart?  But then somehow you cross paths again?  Whether it's a bump in to each other at Target with a college friend who just happens to live in the same town still, or it's the culmination of an obsessive hey-I-wonder-what-happened-to-so-n-so dig on Facebook, you reconnect and you pick up right where you left off {barring the fact that you now have new/different kids, spouses, careers, etc} and have the same relational vibe you always did before.

That's kinda what the blogosphere is to me - this space, these posts and the comments in them.  Problem is, so many of the peeps I loved seven years ago have either 1.) like me, left their blogs to fallow, hoping for a return to what blogging once was for them or 2.) gotten mad successful and wouldn't even know me, the blogger who changed her username and url a minimum of 5 times in the past seven years, if I did happen to comment on their posts again.

Unlike many blogging friends who've reinvented over the years, I've imported all of the early stuff to keep with me.  Good, bad, ugly.  Sweet, sad, and celebratory.  I've kept it, and I'm glad I have.  Oh yeah, the older, wiser me went through and weeded out the unwise posts I may or may not have made, but the general sense of what was going on and who I was through that?  I kept that as a reminder of both the progress I've made and a chronicle of the things that plague me year after year.

How could I know what a great mirror this place would be?  What a great place for me to come and SEE myself for real? But I looked back here and saw the shaping that God has done in me in the last seven years...saw that He has a plan for me and that I just need to keep on keeping on and He will bring it to me what I was made to do.  Waiting is hard - see the above reference about the things that plague me year after year?  Patience is one of those things.  It don't come easy, that's for sure.  {It pained me to write that b/c it's grammatically incorrect, but saying it properly didn't sound very poetic...soo....}

I recently realized, at the funeral of my husband's great-aunt, that I am NOT the one to take pictures at family events - that I'm not the one who captures evidence of family gatherings and later edits them into slideshows or scrapbooks.  But I have and can still capture the events, the emotions, the day to day {which is beginning to run together too easily into an amorphous blob of a memory that I can't quite grasp} happenings of my family.  So, I need to keep coming back, keep writing, and preserve something of the present for my children.

I'm ba-aack!  So I'ma gonna try and write more, and comment more and get this place back into what it was before.  Will y'all help me kickstart again?

 

riding the wave

So I closed 2012 out here on the blog with a lot of.....

Nothing.

Silence.

But it wasn't for lack of anything to say.

I got the job.  And waited to start until the week after Thanksgiving, which was for the best, really, but it made December kind of crazy, not to mention financially tight given that 1.) we were already behind on money, 2.) uh, Christmas, and 3.) because I'd neglected to ask about pay frequency, I soon discovered my new gig pays MONTHLY, and I'd started right at the beginning of the pay period.  Any working mom knows the trouble that presents with childcare being due in advance, but we made it, PHEW!  God has been so good to us in providing just what we need when we need it - not gonna lie and say I haven't gained new gray hairs over it, but when His providence appears on the horizon and I know we can abide in it, the joy and peace that comes is truly indescribable.

Additionally, we found ourselves smack in the midst of a new schedule that has Mom waking at 5:30 to get things rolling at casa del Meyer, working from 9-6, Dad picking up Christopher from his Montessori school, and a crazy evening routine of family dinner, cleanup, and residual homework all before bedtime at 8:30.  There've been some transition pains, yes, but overall, it's been good.  Thus, regarding the holiday, gifts were haphazardly purchased with mere days to spare, we got to spend a few hours with my side of the family, and we hosted Christmas for the Meyer side of family.  That said, I didn't get things together enough to make my homemade items for teachers, coordinate a Christmas letter/picture to send out to friends and family, or make goodies for the neighbors, per usual.

So, today, this last day of Christmas break, I'm finally going to take some time to breathe and do our family's  year in review for 2012 and try to bring y'all current.

2012 was a year of busy, hard work and lots of great times as a family for casa del Meyer.  We had lots of firsts in 2012, too.

At the beginning of the year, Seth was in the second half of his first year as Cub Master for Colton's Cub Scouts pack, and Heather was a novice coach for Kelsey's 5th grade Odyssey of the Mind team.  {Kelsey and Colton had both done OM in 2011 and this was their second year, but a first for Mom as coach.}  The spring was highlighted with the Pinewood Derby and the OM Regional Tournament where Kelsey and Heather were shocked {and thrilled} as their team placed 2nd and advanced to the State tournament in May!  We didn't place further at State, but what a great time we had and how inspiring it was to see a team of kids be creative together.

This year marked the year archery became a hobby for the entire family, when Heather got her first bow in the spring and we purchased a membership to our local archery range.  We've spent many hours over the weekend there learning the craft.

In April, Keith Lancaster came to our church to provide a singing workshop, and lit the fire in three of our men to attend his Worship Leader Institute in Tulsa that summer.  Come July, Seth boarded his first airplane and spent a full week at the Worship Leader Institute, learning how to really engage our congregation into giving our best to God in worship.  He had a wonderful time and the impacts of the instruction he received have been dramatically noticeable each time he steps up to lead worship at church.  At the same time Seth was coming home, Heather and the kids were leaving for a week of camp, making this summer the first time Seth and Heather have spent more than a week away from each other.  Camp was great, and we enjoyed a few more weeks of summer before school started.

This fall marked the first year that Kelsey and Colton didn't go to the same school, the end of one era as they began another when Kelsey started middle school.  She did her first organized sport, running with the cross country team, and has been learning to play her first instrument, the trumpet her daddy once played.  She continues to be a star student, if on the quiet side per all her teachers at conferences this fall.  Colton is in 4th grade and has been a busy bee with Colorado State history projects like his Mesa Verde diorama.  His teacher this year is wonderful and has really inspired Colton in the classroom.  He is in OM again {and Heather is coaching again - despite her hope to take a year off} and still very active in Cub Scouting.  Christopher is a joy, constantly hamming it up with his silly faces and voices to get the ready attention of those around him.  And not just that of our family; he has an attractive force about him, making teens at church, other Cub Scouts and students from the older kids' schools flock to him and see what new trick he has to show them.  He continues to speak in the vowel-heavy pattern he's long adopted where inflection changes "ou" from shoe to soup, which seems to add to his charm rather than raise any concern about impediments.  He started "heehaw coow" {horse school}, his first experience with full-time daycare, at a local Montessori school in November when Heather began her new job and likes to do his block work, take naps, and ride the horses.

While Heather enjoyed the balance of being home with the kids and working as a free-lance grant writer this past year, the feast or famine nature of self-employment did little to stabilize the financial struggles we've had shortly after Christopher was born.  In November, she returned to social work with an organization that serves youth demonstrating risky behaviors.  She is three-quarter time and thus enjoys Mondays off and half-day Fridays.

Seth spent a few weekends hunting with his dad during archery season again this year; and brought home a deer that has been so mild and tasty, it has gone very quickly!  He signed up to do his work's small-scale version of The Biggest Loser and put his heart {and soles} into his efforts as a new runner.  The more conscientious eating plan and 60+ miles he ran over 6 weeks paid off, as he dropped 20+lbs and claimed the highest percentage lost of his co-workers.  In a follow-up weigh in at the end of the year, he had lost another 5-6 lbs and still claimed first place, so we are all very proud of his efforts.

As we begin 2013, we pray for a year with fewer tragedies than the one we've just closed.  Between all of the shootings, fires and the tragic story of Jessica Ridgeway, we've held on to the hope that Jesus provides us.  We pray that God will use us to be comforters, teachers, and servants to those in need this year, that blessings abound to those whom we love, and that we get to share in them with you.

  

time to call a spade a spade...

So, uh, the Photo Challenge?  A nice thought, but I don't do routine/habit so well, duh.  Even when I've put myself out there in hopes of accountability, when it comes to bailing, I seem to have no qualms doing so, and I positively hate that about myself.

So add that to the ever-increasing pile of empty commitments and undone tasks I have going for me, add to it that I'm looking down the barrel of depression again, and I'm a pretty sad mess right now.

Call it a self-fulfilling prophecy or just keen awareness of my broken mind, but I knew it was coming.  About a month ago, I bought a bottle of St. John's Wort, wrote out a daily regimen that involved sunshine and physical activity, and told myself, "I will warrior on through this and get by.  It will be different this time."

But I've done exactly none of the things on my preventive checklist, my St. John's wort only got consumed regularly for a week and then haphazardly afterwards.  I'm sleeping an average of 6 hrs/night because I want to get up and get Kelsey off with a good breakfast in her belly, yet Christopher is wired like me and stays up way too late leaving me with less than 30 minutes of self-time each day*.

*Except that I've been so checked out lately that one could say I'm getting plenty of self-time while my kid watches umpteen million episodes of Handy Manny each day.  Cognitive dissonance only exacerbates the whole seasonal affective situation and yet I'm just so good at feeding into it.

In a misguided hopeful attempt to steer the fam toward more order and structure, I've recently made up some chore charts, a ticket system for the kids' allowance, and have tried to be more consistent with meal planning.  Each day they have the opportunity to do all of their chores, and if they do, they get a blue ticket, worth $0.50; orange and green tickets are awarded at random and are also worth $0.50 each.  Screen time tickets are given each day {barring any loss of privilege incurred for bad behavior} and can be banked or used within the same day.  The result has been a mixed bag, probably due in large part to my miserable lack of consistency in years past.  Some days it has been a great tool, and others, the cause for sullenness and attitude.  I know that behavior charts and the like do not get the heart of the matter; a person's desires, and am not so naive to think that this will make my kids into the people I wish for them to be in the future.  But, from a practical standpoint, it is helping to get things done more frequently than they were.  We are having lots of good talks to talk about helping each other carry the domestic burdens for the family, and hopefully someday that will take root.  For now, this is helping me keep my head above water {most days, anyway}.

Anyway, so the other night I talked with my mom, after a lengthy and unintended hiatus, and it felt really good to have someone who understood my personal crazy that is this time of year.  She knew about the checklist, the not accomplishing any of the items, because she does it too.

I didn't tell her that sometimes, sometimes the self-talk is so deafeningly loud that it's incredibly hard to tune into the things that are True. the One who is True.  That increasingly I am having to refute so much of what I tell myself, rationalize how those negative feelings are simply Not All There Is to Me.  Those days are so hard, and they sometimes scare me because what if there comes a day when the inner voice is simply too loud, too persuasive?  Of course, and I'm not trying to minimize this here, the worst days often tend to coincide with the beginning of my cycle....like clockwork, and yet I fail to recognize it until the day after the Terrible Horrible Days, when there is an ache in my wombish area, followed by that telltale gush of warmth that announces its arrival.

I didn't tell her all of that, but somehow, I'm pretty sure she knows.

Yesterday I saw this Note to Self on Facebook and knew it was totally for me: