Momma Struggle Bus?

Yes, baby, momma's riding the struggle bus.  More like was on it, riding along, coping fine, and then I fell off, it ran me over and then a bigger, more struggly bus hit me while I was trying to get up.  *Insert heavy sigh here*

Being a mom is hard.  Like really super the hardest.  I guess I'd be willing to bet being a parent in general is hard, but Bob makes it look really easy as he is ridiculously good at it, so I just assume being a mom is harder, although I know that to not be logically true.  Anyways...I get it, you know, why otherwise fairly well adjusted adults become alcoholics.  The secret is 2 year olds.  I think it's the under lying cause of most addiction in fact.  It's going to be the cause of mine at least.

I had literally two and half hours to get through between the time I got home from work and Bob left for work until I could put said two year old to bed, and somehow she managed to break me in those 2.5 hours.  Not just kinda break me either, like kill my soul and question my chosen path in this world break me.  In 2.5 hours my sweet little Addelynn managed to knock over 8 oz of freshly thawed breast milk (that's like worth 13,673 euro's I believe) for her crying sister, climb onto me while I was feeding said sister and SIT ON her belly, yes 2 year old on top of four month old's belly, get mad at me that she was not going to be allowed to use her infant sister as a trampoline or slide, trip over a full potty chair while getting down, resulting in pee splashing everywhere and then run away from me giggling when I asked to come to me so that I could clean her up.  She then proceeded to punch the dog in the face Floyd Mayweather style and laugh hysterically.  When I told her that we use gentle hands and that if she was going to keep hurting the puppy she was going to go in the time out she again wound up and punched the damn dog!  I hauled her to the time out corner while she dropped to her knees in dead weight LAUGHING.  Yes, laughing, I am convinced she was possessed by demons tonight.  Of course as I was taking her to the time out, I stepped on one of her 4823 blocks strewn all over the entire living room resulting in near stepping on a Lego pain.  We got to the time out and as I was telling her to stand up and face the corner, she grabbed block number 4822 and chucked it at the wall.  I was DONE, and instinctively spanked her bare little butt and said "ABSOLUTELY NOT!"  After some crying and 120 seconds I called her out of the corner to come talk about what happened.  I pulled her up onto my lap to show her that I completely still loved and adored her, but she cannot hit the puppy and throw blocks.  Well, that was my intention anyway, however, when I got her to my lap I realized that she was soaking wet and not wearing any underwear anymore.  I asked her where her undies were and she pulled soaking wet undies out from under the chair.  WTH?!  You've been potty trained for a while now, but now we're all of a sudden going to say to hell with it, pee in them and then HIDE THEM under my leather recliner?  Ok, cool kid.  Cool.  I texted Bob telling him that I was struggling and I didn't know what was up with our kid tonight.  He just responded "Breathe."  Good idea.  I proceed to make myself a salad and of course she climbs in my lap to share my garden of goodness despite the fact that her and I both know she's not going to like it because she hasn't liked lettuce the 53 other times she's insisted on trying it.  But, I let her anyways.  She gets a hard boiled egg piece and chews it up a bit and then SPITS IT BACK ON TOP OF MY SALAD?!?  What are you doing child?!?  No!  I told her we would no longer be sharing mommas salad to which she sensibly responded by SLAPPING the top of my salad, slapping it, dressing and all, slapped all over us.  "Addelynn why are you being dumb?"  Yup.  You read it right, mother of the year, just asked my two year old why she was dumb.  Thank God she has no idea what that word means as I am not always acing mothering this hard and referring to her as dumb, just on this particularly fantastic night my best qualities are really shining.

I wipe her up and she is now noticing that her normally very patient mother has started to crack and doesn't know how much she can take.  She gets off my lap and looks at me and I kid you not, says "Momma struggle bus?"  Ha!  Yeah kid, I'm the one on the struggle bus!  You're the driver though, so I guess we're in this together.  If you think your kids aren't listening or don't understand things, you're super wrong.  When she's having a hard time, we will take her out of the situation quite often and ask her what's up, and try to help her identify what's wrong by telling her that she seems to be riding the struggle bus and we'd like to help, lol.  Clearly she was doing the same for me this evening.

We get all her blocks picked up and she actually helps quite a bit and I ask her to march on upstairs and she joyfully does so.  I get her upstairs and onto the changing table and my normally not super affectionate child says "Momma hug?"  I have instantly gone from thinking this may be the day I end her, to a broken heart realizing that she's not entirely sure her momma loves her anymore.  I snatched my naked little girl up and hugged her and felt all the waves of a thousand oceans of guilt wash over me while pushing back the tears.  We got her jammies on and sat down in her rocking chair to finish our nightly routine.  It normally starts with a book, but she changed it up and said "Momma burp me?"  This has been something new that she's started since Josie's arrival and she has seen me feed her sister.  She breaks this out when she is feeling sad and wants to be held against your chest like a baby.  I put her against my chest, covered her in her blanket, started to rock her in the dark and began to sob.  Like really, really sob.  As I rocked my sweet peanut and cried she twirled the pieces of my hair that had fallen out of my awesome mom bun and softly said "All better momma, all better.  It's ok momma, all better."

Part of me felt like I shouldn't show her that I was so broken tonight, but the other part of me knew that we both were, and we needed to heal together.  I had all the thoughts, about being an awful mother 'cause surely good mothers who are against spanking don't slap their bare babies bottom and ask them why they are dumb, to thoughts that maybe I don't have the patience to raise kids without effing them up.  Logically I know this is all not accurate, but man, tell that to my heart.  I had the thought that maybe I shouldn't have more kids, 'cause clearly this one is all I can handle, to the thought that it has to be something I am doing wrong as her momma to cause her to act out like this!

Being a mom is the hardest thing I have ever done.  What?  How could that freaking be possible?  I survived growing up with five siblings and a blended family, I graduated college, again and again and again, I started a career and changed it and changed it back again.  I have served in disaster zones and been maced and took a taser for the full ride.  I have fought the battle of depression and anxiety and came out on top.  I have fought for my marriage and rode that out through the deepest valleys and I have given birth naturally.  I have watched my step-mom fight cancer, watched her decline and watched her take her last breath.  I have built homes and helped people rebuild their lives.  I have done all of that...HOW ON EARTH CAN KEEPING A TWO YEAR OLD ALIVE be the hardest thing I have ever done?  This, this right here, staying home 90% of the day, watching "the choo choo movie" and helping my little girl cook fake peas, should be the easiest days of my life.  Never did I know it would challenge me to my core, question myself and wonder if I was truly going to make it out of this without being her answer to "Tell me what brought you to therapy?"

We rocked, I cried, she hair twirled and we healed our night together.  I put her down and she said her prayers "Now lay me, down sleep, pray Lord, soul keep, die wake, soul take.  Amen!"  I came down stairs and started to put my own disaster zone affectionately referred to as my home back together and I prayed.  I mopped and I prayed, I scrubbed dishes and I prayed and I did load after load after load of laundry, while I prayed.  Asking, Lord!  "What is going on with me?"  I haven't struggled like this in years.  I've been crabby and short and almost never ever cry, what is going on?  Then it hit me...the starting point of what feels like one really hard month...OH YES!  The day someone took all my lug nuts off my vehicle and tried to kill me and my family.  There's that.  Turns out, I'm still super struggling with that.  Apparently so much so that my 2 yo noticed.

Anyways, there isn't a huge epiphany to this post, other than to say that being a momma is really hard, and I didn't ever think that it would challenge me this much.  I didn't know that it would at times break me and at other times be everything that I needed.  I love my girls more than anything in the world and wouldn't change a thing...but some days...Im on the struggle bus.  I also am super sorry to anyone in my life who Ive been short and snotty to over the last month.  I've noticed and I apologize.  My life was sorta rocked this month and I'm having a hard time getting back on the horse I guess.

It was a Girl, and her Name was Ellenor

Some thing happened yesterday.  Something that I have zero doubt will stick with me forever.  Something that was awful and traumatic and scary and beautiful.  At the time I had no idea that it is to be expected sometimes with miscarriages.  At the time it was the most painful thing I have ever emotionally experienced.  Now, I am starting to see it differently.  Again, maybe some TMI in here for some people, but again this is for me, and you really cannot be surprised that I hide nothing by now!  Yesterday while Bob and my little lady were sleeping, I passed the baby.  Whole; intact and it was larger than I anticipated it being.  Well, I guess I thought it would all just come out in pieces of tissue for some reason.  It did not.  Those few moments were 100% fueled by a deep despair I have never in my life experienced.  It was best described by the writer at LeBelle Dame:

"If you are several weeks pregnant you may pass grayish tissue that is placental or fetal tissue. What many women experience when they have a miscarriage, and what I have experienced is that at the end of your miscarriage you will pass the placenta, gestational sac, and your baby at once. Many mothers in their complete and utter shock that this has occurred (many times this happens while on the toilet) end up flushing the sac and feeling an intense feeling or panic, shock, guilt and despair. If this has happened to you, please know that it has happened to many, many women as well, and that you did the best that you could given the state that you were in.  If your body is threatening to have a miscarriage now, I am letting you know this so that you will know what you want to do if this happens to you. If you pass the gestational sac you do not need to feel morbid, guilty or strange to want to open it and see your baby. These are completely normal and natural feelings for a mother to have, and seeing your little one may actually help you to gain some closure."

I found that after the fact when I told my sister in law and another friend "I held it!  I had to.  Is that weird?  Was that wrong?  Oh my heart hurts so bad!"  It helped me immensely to know that the loss of cognitive decisions at the moment and my desire to hold my baby were actually incredibly common and very normal.  It was the size of my palm, and had a head, a body and it was no doubt my tiny human. 

I had somewhere to be shortly after this all happened and quickly got A, and got in the van and took care of my errand quick.  As I was driving over the Bong Bridge, over the water and back to Duluth the magnitude of what just happened hit me and the tears just started to pour!  I literally have no words to describe the dark sadness that came over me.  As I cried out to The Lord, begging Him to be with me I knew I needed to do a few things for me.  I immediately turned on the radio and the first thing I heard was "When confusion's my companion, and despair holds me for ransom, I will feel no fear, for I know that You are near!"  Of course it was total comfort but the tears were so heavy at this point that I could no longer safely drive and surely I couldn't go to the grocery store looking like this hot mess!  I pulled over into the parking lot of Coppertop Church and parked so that I could overlook the harbor.  If you're not from Duluth, this is literally the view:

A was sleeping in her seat and I sat there listening to this song:

 

 

It deeply resonated with me:  "My help comes from You, You're right here, pulling me through, You carry my weakness, my sickness, my brokenness all on Your shoulders!"  "You mend what once was shattered."  As I stood overlooking the harbor, tears rolling down my face and hearing the words "My help is from You.  Don't have to see it to believe it.  My help is from you," I knew it was true, and I knew that it was over.  I knew that my angel was with Him and my sweet Lynn would hold her grandchild for me until we meet again. 

 

Even before this happened Bob and I thought I was having a girl.  Then, both my mom and my dad have referenced the baby being a girl without us ever talking about it.  After holding the baby I could no longer call it "it."  It was clearly a baby, I saw it with my own eyes and held it just like I did her sister 10 months prior.  It was a girl, and her name was Ellenor.  Ellenor Rose, Ellenor Grace...we're not sure, but having a name and having that closure as hard as it was has helped me. 

 

Yesterday I spent the great majority of the night in bed.  As soon as I put A to sleep at 1930 I climbed into bed and pulled the covers over my head and cried.  I felt almost exactly like I did the night after Lynn's funeral.  Like it was all over, but I was still there, but without a huge piece of me.  I cried, texted with friends and the hubby and passed out hard.  This morning I woke up anew.  I was excited to hear my peanut cry this morning to wake up, we made breakfast, turned on worship music and sang and clapped along.  I opened up all the curtains and let the fresh air in.  I know I will still have hard days ahead of me, and I wouldn't wish this on anyone, but I know I am better for it, and I know He will carry me through.  "And You turn my tears to laughter, Your forgiveness is my fortress, Oh Your mercy is relentless!"





I'm the Mommy of Two Beautiful Babes, One Living, One Dead

That's my new normal.  Hmmm.  Twenty four hours later, it still feels surreal, even as the latter hasn't even finished leaving my body.  From what I've gathered as I enter this world I knew nothing about, I am not supposed to talk about this.  No one says it, but without saying it, society says "Don't talk about it...it wasn't real...no one wants to hear about a dead baby coming out of your body..."  They say that so loudly that you're not supposed to share the good, for the off chance that it turns into not so good, until that chance is significantly decreased.  Well, I've never been one to follow what society thinks I should do, and I feel like I need to talk about it, for ME, so if it makes you uncomfortable A) quit reading and B) I don't care. 

I regret not sharing the good.  Now I feel like I need to talk about the end of my babies life and few ever got to share in the joy of the beginning.  Few ever got to see my sweet girl in her exciting news onsie.  Few ever got to see the joy on my hubby's face and the sheer fear on mine of raising two under 1.5 years old.  Few ever got to hear about our plans for a double nursery in our tiny little house for our beautiful growing family, and we never got to know, would you have been our Jude Robert or Josephine Mae? 

 

I had no idea the loss of a unborn baby hurt this bad!  I had never talked to someone about the loss of theirs and only knew of a couple people who had, despite it happening to one in four families.  After I shared the news of my miscarriage with an intimate few, I was shocked to hear the people come out of the woodwork, "I've had one," "I also had one," "I've had four," "Me too!  This is my third."  What?  How are we all dealing with the loss of our babies and no ones talking?  It's not because it doesn't hurt because I am realizing that by sharing with another woman in my circle of life who is currently going through the exact same thing, to the day, that it more than hurts, it's an unexpected ripping out of your heart in a way you could never understand unless you've been there.  And I don't say that in a way that I am demeaning any kind of compassion shown, but more so because I didn't know, I had no idea, I was the one with zero knowledge of how bad it hurt, until I was the one hurting.  I was blindsided with this hurt that I didn't/don't know how to handle because I was naïve.  After already having had a beautiful little girl after one month of trying and then another less than a year later without trying, I somehow thought I was immune to the potential of mine ending in miscarriage, even though I had heard it was somewhat common.  It never crossed my mind that I may not be holding the newest LeClaire kiddo on leap day 2016 (my due date).  I was definitely pregnant and in my mind the only way that this was ending was with a birth, because no one was talking about any of the other outcomes. 

 

Why don't we talk about this?  The fact that we encourage women to wait until that magical 12 week mark indicates that we're preparing to hide this secret even before it happens.  And if you did wait or want to wait to share your news, great, that's your personal choice and I respect that.  Having that special secret that only you and your hunny share sounds fun, I just couldn't do it.  But I think we're doing a grave disservice to women by culturally encouraging people to suffer alone because it's not something we're ready to discuss.  An article I read said "If you lose a child, a dog, a parent, or your bloody iPhone you're entitled to sympathy, support and understanding of those around you, but if you lose your baby...shhhh!"  Why? 

 

We don't talk because I feel like a failure!  Like the woman that I mentioned earlier that I know that is also going through losing her baby right now said last night that deeply resonated with me in regards to her husband, "It kind of feels like as much as we're in it together, it still was me that lost it."  As I sat at dinner last night with Bob and I looked at him with tears in his eyes as we for the first time really discussed how this feels with words vs the tears that I could only muster previously, I felt like a failure to him.  I know he doesn't see me that way, but he cant carry a baby, so he trusted me to carry it for him, and it was my body that couldn't do that.  I know logically all the things, no need to tell me how the science of it all works, I get that.  Doesn't change how you feel emotionally when you can physically feel your body ridding itself of the baby you had so many hopes and dreams for.  Ironically, it feels a lot like the early stages of labor.  What a change in perspective and what kind of pain you can tolerate when it's to give vs take life.  None the less, I feel like a failure.  I know it's not true, but how do you stop yourself from feeling that way when your body was the one that was supposed to give life to this baby and it wasn't enough.  It's not logical, I can't explain it, I just do. 

 

We don't talk because Who wants to be that girl?  Who wants to share that news?  No one has a canned reaction for "I'm sorry your baby that you never got to know died."  And when they do, because it's so taboo, to no fault of their own, they don't know how to actually be comforting.  "You guys will have more!"  What?  You wouldn't say that to me if my dog died, why is that ok to say about my baby?  "At least it happened earlier!"  Although I am a supporter of a women's right to choose life for their baby, to me, this baby was real.  I wanted this baby and it had a potential name, it had a place it was going to sleep, it had a big sister, it had a heart beat and a face, and it had a mommy and daddy who loved it deeply.  I don't care that it was only "alive" for 2 months.  It was real, and to me it's loss just as sad.  "You guys can try again."  Right, that's true, and we will, but we wanted THIS baby.  My goal wasn't to get pregnant, it was to have a baby, this one.  "At least you already have one!"  Excuse me?  Would that be ok to say to someone who lost a kid?  Although Addy has been one of the only things that has brought a smile to my face in the last 24 hours (did you see her vogue model pose I posted yesterday, that kid cracks me up), having her doesn't mean I don't get to be sad about baby J that never got to be.  I'm not mad at anyone if you've said these things, and I know there was no malice, but this is one of the reasons we're not talking...no one knows what to say.  No one knows how to deal with my grief, so I'm just not supposed to talk about it. 

 

After hearing that one in four women have a miscarriage I was shocked.  If it's so common why do you not hear about it?  I know of things far less common that happen that people can't seem to shut up about!  We're all so scared to talk about it that we've decided that ignoring it completely is a better option?  I think that if we opened up about it and made it ok to talk about it, people like me wouldn't be blindsided by how bad it hurts.  If those that have gone this path before me were brave enough to openly share (as some have with me) I think that we could knock this massive secret down a peg or two.  From now on, I will share.  I don't want to have to feel shame when I share that I have two kids, but you only see one.  I will be honest, so that hopefully others may feel safe and not have to feel like they should suffer silently too.  I like how Ann Zamudio put it "Imagine what it would be like if that circle widened.  If other people started their own circles of sharing and understanding.  If women knew that they didn't have to feel ashamed when they had a miscarriage.  Imagine if those circles converged, and we started building a society where a woman can openly grieve for her lost child instead of hide in embarrassment."

 

So if I am withdrawn, or if I am needy, or if I talk about it, or if I can't talk about it, that's why.  I now know what it's like to be that one in four, and I'm struggling with it.  It hurts more than I thought it would and I'm not usually one to shut up and suffer.  I know it will get easier and I will be ok, but just not right now.



 

 



 

 

 









This Guy Though...

It's been quite a while since I have felt any inspiration to write. You'd think over the 9 months of my pregnancy Id feel inclined to write about/to my baby...however that wasn't/isn't the case...mother of the year here. However, while laying in bed at 4am after a feeding, it hit me. That feeling I am familiar with started, and a entry started writing itself in my head non stop and I knew I wasn't getting to sleep until it was in writing. So here I am...

This guy who lays sleeping very deeply next to me this early morning is incredible. No you guys, like seriously. Way more than you even kinda know, and way more than he or I let on.  Through my pregnancy, he was good. Supportive, kind, patient...wow is he patient, and loving. So, yes I only expected the same out of him after giving birth. I shouldn't have however, because that'd be selling him short.  

Since giving birth, this guy has taken his normally fantastic self, and somehow found it within himself to bring it to the next level.  It started in the delivery room. Wow...what a man. This guy was at my side at all times. Through a 36 hour labor, with minimal sleep, this guy was with me during the day, helping encourage me through contractions, and then softly rubbed my face and played with my hair at night to ease my sky rocketing anxiety and allow me to sleep.  He allowed me to call the shots of my birth, while supporting decisions we made together. He stepped up when nursing staff was lacking, took care of monitors, became a pro at reprogramming all the fancy machines, and took charge during my unusually quick, understaffed delivery when asked to "Take a leg!"  He told me how great I was doing, how beautiful I was, and how although he's the one who fights bad guys for a living, I am by far the stronger of us two. 

As if being the rock star of birthing/delivery wasn't enough, this guy has been just stupid ridiculously awesome since we've been home.  For our daughter, I have somewhat unconventional values/desires to do things not always seen as the norm or what he calls "crunchy hippie parenting."  Despite giving me a hard time, he's been 300% on board, not only implementing cloth diapers, exclusive breast feeding, baby wearing, ect., he's advocated for me and our choices.  He has zero shame in my desire to feed our daughter naturally and continually tells me how beautiful we are.  

I have had a particularly awful recovery period from birth and this guy has been my personal home health nurse.  He keeps track of my medications schedule and brings me my alternating medications/vitamins on time, with a fresh glass of water and ice like clock work. He keeps track of how much water I am drinking and reminds me to stay on track. He makes sure I am using the restroom regularly to avoid complications (you lose your ability to tell when your bladder is full initially after birth) and demands I go relax in the tub every night!  He makes sure I am not carrying too much, or pushing my body too far and requires me to put my feet up and rest. 

As if the above mentioned things weren't enough, this guy is an A+ dad, with very little previous knowledge or experience.  I'm not gonna lie, he blatantly loves Addy so very very much, I'm a little jealous.  Although it's only been 8 days, he is  consistently eager to do absolutely everything to care for her. He has changed 99.9% of her diapers (ok, I've done 2), he gets her ready every morning, and lovingly puts her PJ's on at night. He has given her her only bath, complete with her baby essential oils and baby massage.  He is a pro at all the baby things and mom knows how nothing works. If you need to know something about the car seat, stroller, pack and play, and even my breast pump, ask him. I have no clue as he does it all.  He gets A ready to leave the house every day, packing her, a diaper bag, moms meds and even breakfast for us on the go.  When we're out he carriers her, calms her screams, and hands her to mom to show off.  He takes care of her daily doctor appointments, the medical supply people and insurance issues.  He reminds me when it's time to feed, gets her ready, keeps her awake during the feeding, and then burps her afterwards.  He takes her away from mom when her screams get to be too much and calms her little heart. His favorite thing though is his "Addy hugs," and pointing out all her "toots!"  

9 months ago he started down this journey of being daddy of the century when he took 5 weeks off to spend with his girls after his little lady was born, and he hasn't lost momentum for a day yet. I absolutely cannot imagine embarking on this journey of becoming first time parents without him, or with anyone else.  For being the one with tons of baby experience, he's the one teaching me!  I'm at times...ok usually a strong, challenging personality, and he not only tolerates me, but finds me endearing, beautiful and valued and tells me so continuously.  I couldn't me more grateful for this man of integrity, faith and courage that God has given me, and am honored to become parents with him as he's truly doing it right. 

PS - forgive my typos and grammar, I have a fussy baby to feed with no time for editing. 

He Was Walking Her Home

It's been on my heart to write about my dad and Lynn's marriage for MONTHS now, even before Lynn passed away, but because of how hard I knew it'd be, I've procrastinated it.  I knew it'd be hard a) because the hole that is there in all the many ways Lynn supported and loved me is still SUPER empty and hurts like a son of a gun every time I think about what Lynn's reaction to certain situations would have been.  It's like this loneliness that I know a simple text to Lynn when I am feeling that way would have gave me new perspective and a feeling like someone had my back, hard core.  But I think the even harder reason for me to write this is that it brings me to this sadness in my heart for my dad that I literally cannot even imagine.  When I really sit and think about the things that he has to deal with, his own grief, raising 3 kids on his own, keeping his business going and trying to figure out how to manage a life that was managed for him perfectly for 20+ years.  I literally cannot wrap my mind around that, mainly because I can barely breathe with the amount of emotions he must have to deal with every day, yet he still gets up, faces the day and does it with a positive attitude, praising God the entire time!  I feel like I have a super strong faith, but part of me thinks that I'd still be in bed, crying telling God to eff off.  Just being honest.  So I figured the anniversary of my parents 21st wedding anniversary was probably the day I should stop trying to run from facing the emotions and go for it.

Although I admire my dad for his strength, this isn't about what my dad has done since Lynn passed away.  It's about what he did before that, for 20+ years!  For as long as I can remember, my dad has seen Lynn as his angel, long before she ever was.  If you had the privilege of really knowing Lynn, you knew that she had a fierce spirit.  She had very little fear of sharing how she felt.  She would go toe to toe with absolutely anyone to defend how she felt or someone she loved.  Just as passionately as she fought, she loved.  A relationship with someone like this is incredibly challenging, but even more so relentlessly rewarding (I should know...I have been told what a relationship with me is like...thanks for that trait Lynn).  ;)  My dad has always taken his place in that marriage with joy and with pride, loving ALL aspects of Lynn, even on the really tough days with an attitude of privilege that he got to spend another day with the woman God blessed him with, because for every difficult day, there was 1,000 really amazing days.  

Dad and Lynn's marriage wasn't perfect, which was what made it completely perfect.  If Lynn was here today, she'd be the first to tell you that her cancer diagnosis did something for their marriage, for our family, that likely would have never occurred otherwise.  Everyone, with only a power that our Heavenly Father can provide formed a cohesive, unbreakable bond that was already there, but was just solidified with Christ at the very center.  Seemingly overnight, I watched my dad love that woman in a way he always had, but with more ferocity than I have ever seen except for how I know God loves us.  Because of my dad's love, I watched Lynn find strength to again fight with conviction, this time against cancer!  She knew with every inch of her heart that my dad loved her, unconditionally, and he was going to be there for her, for our family without doubt against absolutely everything.  I believe that it was through my dad's example of love to her that she was also able to confidently know that Christ loved her even more so, eliminating nearly all her fear of cancer!  

Today, if you asked my dad what Ephesians 5:25 was, I doubt he'd be able to tell you, but he lived it more perfectly and consistently than anyone I've ever known..."For husbands, this means love your wives, just as Christ loved the church. He gave up his life for her."  My dad truly did, and he never viewed it as giving up anything, but gaining it all.  My family is into "themes."  Lynn's through her cancer battle was "HOPE" as everyone knows, and we all subsequently adopted it.  However, I've noticed that my dad has had his own theme during this time and even more so since Lynn went "home."  My dad references his 20+ years with Lynn as "walking her home."  Which if you've heard the song above by Mark Schultz is the most beautiful, unselfish way to look at our time here on Earth with our loved ones I can think of!  So many people view death as God taking our loved ones away from us!  However, what Iv'e learned from my dad that it's not that way at all.  Lynn has always been His, and He gave her to us, to my dad for 20 years, and during those 20 years he gave his absolute everything to her, but knew the whole time, he was simply "walking her home."  When it was time to give her back, he wasn't bitter, and he wasn't angry, he was thankful for the walk that he got.  "He walked her through the best days of her life.  Twenty years together and he never left her side!"  I've changed the lyrics just a tad to really portray the perfection of how this played out in our lives..."Their living room, at forty five, and the family said it could be her last night, should we tell him now, or should he wait until the morning to find out?  But when they checked his room that night, he was laying by her side.  Oh he was walking her home, and holding her hand.  Oh the way she smiled when he said this is not the end.  And just for a while they were young again, and she was still more beautiful to him than anything!  He was walking her home, he was walking her home.  Looking back, he sees it all!"  

LOVE YOU DAD!!!!  You've been an awesome example of a Godly husband to us kids and you're making Lynn proud every single day!!

I Have Choices To Make

I am studying the book of Daniel right now, and it's pretty much rocking my world.  It takes place in 605 BC, and on the surface seems like little would be relevant today, however after digging into it further, I'm finding that it couldn't be more relevant for me today.  Basically, the king of Babylon goes to Jerusalem and takes over.  The Israelites are basically captured and brought to Babylon.  Specifically Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael and Azariah, and renamed Belteshazzar, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.  Even if you've barely read the Bible, you know those last three names.  The king orders them to basically forget everything they knew, and learn new ways of speaking, and the ways of Babylon, and placed in an environment that's the equivalency of Vegas times ten.  Food, wine, women, it's an enticing place.  However, Daniel resolves to be different and not to defile himself and his beliefs in order to conform to his environment.

So what?  What does that have to do with us today?  Basically for me what I am learning is that even today, God is calling us to have integrity in an enticing world, and to resist conformity like lives depend on it, because they do!  I know that I will sound like the wacko Christian when I say this, which I am ok with, but I do believe that the enemy is real, and he would love to return us to places that God has called us to leave, and that this will continually be a battle in our lives.  Think about it...Christian or not, any life change you have tried to make for yourself, there's always that pull to return to where you tried to get out of, whether is an addiction, or the decision to just lead a healthier lifestyle by eating better and working out.  I don't think that anyone would disagree that there is a constant pull to return you to where you desire not to be, and unless we make a resolve to do something different, we're at risk for conforming to the world around us, because it seems easier.  As a Christian this is a bigger concept to me and I believe that as Christian's the minute we start toying around with false worship that we will be in the biggest captivity of our lives.  Actually, I don't believe it, I know it to be true from my own experience.  And I can promise you it's not something that "other" people deal with, I believe even strong Christians are at risk for this, maybe even more so.  

I sometimes get really frustrated with what I call the "Jesus Loves Me!" Christians because I hear Jesus, grace, Jesus, grace, blah, blah, blah.  Yeah, Jesus is grace, and he does love us, but I promise you with everything that I am that God is also just and sovereign in our captivity and He basically continually tells us "If you don't back off from <insert whatever we toy with that we know that we shouldn't>, I am not kidding, you WILL be burned!"  Yeah He forgives us, but He also can't just watch us choose disobedience and continually withhold the consequences.  He is a just God and absolutely will eventually turn us over to our sin because He WILL be respected.  

So our choice is to either conform to the world around us or resolve to be different.  The world will either influence us, or we will influence the world, and it's really our choice which it will be, however it won't just happen because we say "Oh, I'm a Christian."  It happens by serious resolve, because I know that the captivity that we face if we don't won't come with a sign that says "I'm super bad for you and if you just give into the temptation that looks really nice right now, I promise your life will be in shambles in months."  No, it will come in the form of something that looks really good, feels even better and even as Christians who know better, will seem like something we can handle.  If given the chance, we will sacrifice our identity and integrity without resolve.  The world is trying to rename us (like they did to the Israelites) and redefine us!  

In further study throughout the last two weeks, some other thoughts that stuck out to me were these:

• The world we live in, our Babylon, aims to seduce.  It's a beautiful life, the image of what everyone wants.  We are indoctrinated to believe in so many things, that it's hard pressed to tell exactly what we believe in, if anything at all.  
• I want to be an individual that lives in this extravagant, excessive culture, without being poisoned by it.  
• God is faithful to keep His word, even if it is a warning, He has to, or else He couldn't be respected.  Therefore when He warns us of the world around us, and we conform anyways, He will not hesitate to turn us over to our consequences and allow us to be taken captive, for our own good.  
• Captivity will always look friendly, and nothing is more dangerous.  
• We open the doors to our own enemies by playing with fire we've been warned about.  
• It is our own rebellion that leaves us open and defenseless.  We get so separated and used to decaying morals that we drop our guard and give up our treasures.  
• The more we play with the enticing world, the more we open the door to destruction, the world will come in to destroy us and we'll be the ones left with regret.  
• A accurate appraisal of where we're allowing conformity in our lives won't be fun.  It will demand that you be straightforward with yourself, it will hurt and it will require candid answers.  
• Nothing that we do as Christians, Bible study, going to church, worship, ect., matters if we're not applying it to our lives.  
• "Bone deep resolve doesn't develop by going to church every Sunday, or going to Bible study every Tuesday night.  They are opportunities to encourage us in our resolve, but they aren't enough to create and sustain it." (Beth Moore)  That comes from within.  Our Godliness never just happens.
• Integrity is daily becoming the same person no matter where we are, when we have integrity, everything that we are on the inside is obvious on the outside, and life becomes so much simpler, when there are not "so many costume changes."
• The enemy isn't going to waste temptation where you already carry the armor of God, he's not going to waste a fiery dart by aiming at what's covered, he will only shoot at what you've left open to temptation by a lack of resolve.  
• "We will resolve on purpose, or we will not do it at all."

Screw Cancer and Anxiety!!

Blarg!  Augh!!  My chest is so heavy it's making breathing difficult, and the pit in my stomach feels never ending. While I've had two completely amazing days in Disney, laughing, feeling carefree at times and genuinely happy and grateful for the beauty and friendships in my life...I've also been completely overwhelmed the last 12 hours with some of the worst anxiety and sadness I've experienced in a REALLY long time!!!!  

I've been off depression medications for about a month and that decision feels good and right, however anxiety is another story I'm continually learning about and figuring out my best plans of attack.  Right now it's extremely situational...although I LOVE my girls, I desperately want to be home with my family!!!  While my brain understands that at 5:20am I will be, my heart still feels like that's four lifetimes away.  Figuring out how life is supposed to look and carrying on when someone you love very much and has been a part of your life for as long as you can remember has been given a time frame for life...turns out to be a confusing emotional effing roller coaster!!!  

I thought and prayed about leaving for a long time and thought it was ok and right, but right now I just want to hear the comfort of Lynn's O2 machine humming along and the oddly reassuring chaos of my family around me. And I don't think how I feel right now is necessarily even about being in Vegas versus Lakeville right now...I THINK it's just a hot mess of my emotions that when I'm at home, in the moment, able to placate. Take me out of that where it's just me, my emotions, and my thoughts and it's turning out to feel insanely raw. My first "vacation" where tears quietly fell down my cheeks as I drifted in and out of sleep last night and fall like huge raindrops this morning. 

Cancer is horrific. It changes everything, and feels brutally unfair. Life is not even sorta fair, but it still feels maddening. Anger washes over me sometimes at levels I've never experienced before. I'm not an angry girl. Actually...yelling and the expression of anger frightens me to my core. It shakes my soul and makes me scared of everything around me. However, cancer brings it out of me. The unfairness of it digs out deep anger where I find myself doing things out of the expression of anger I had never understood when others did in the past. Punching my steering wheel, begging God "WHY?"  Throwing my phone against the passenger side window in my car, cause potentially shattering a window and my phone could somehow make the news on the screen be different.  It's still unfair no matter how you dress it up in positivity. I want my Dad and Lynn to be grandparents, together...for a really long time. I want Kelli to know what it feels like to have a momma at her wedding, and know that there's not a soul in the room more proud of you and happy in that moment than her. I want my dad to know what it's like to "grow old" with someone, and I want Lynn to be able to see her boys as men someday.  I feel guilt knowing I've had moments with her that her own kids may never have. Guilt, lined with memories that I'd not give up for a million dollars.  

So while it feels like I'm going on hour 13 of one hell of an anxiety attack...I fear this is just normal emotion of knowing your days with your loved one are numbered and as much as you can manipulate, control and change most things in your life...this is not one of those things.  And if I hear "we're all dying," and "everyone's days are numbered," one more time, you might be the unfortunate one where my "screw yourself," just might take that jump from my mind to my lips. Although that's rationally true, nothing about this process feels rational, and suppressing the irrationality and putting on a frosting of "it'll be ok in the end," when you're just not feeling it in the moment doesn't seem beneficial. Today...cancer effing sucks, and anxiety is a bitch.