Wednesday, July 19, 2017

The Kindness Rocks Project

So there's been a thing recently called kindness rocks.  The idea is, you paint a rock, put it somewhere in a public place, and it makes people smile when they see it.  And if the finder wants, they can take a picture with it and put it on Facebook, "hide" it somewhere else, or just leave it.

Bearcub & I've been finding them around the pool while waiting on Ladybug and Turkey's swim lessons, but the girls just discovered the rocks today.  They started spotting them while we were driving around town and asking me to stop and get them.  So I thought this would be a great thing to participate in.  I quickly developed a grand plan to paint rocks and leave them at each place we stopped on our way to the UP.  So I stopped for a can of spray paint.  Thankfully, that's all I invested.  
When we got home, Ladybug was pouting over her sister having two rocks while she only had one.  Kindness rocks already backfiring.  So I sent her inside while I set Turkey up finding and washing rocks.  After our plumbing work, we have an abundance of rocks in our yard, so she quickly collected quite a few.  I spray painted them white and didn't have to wait long for them to dry in the heat.  I sent both girls out to bring in a couple of rocks, and then the kindness rocks really backfired.  I heard wails, and went out to find that Ladybug hit Turkey on the head with a relatively heavy rock.  Why?  "She didn't hold open the door."  I tried to understand how an unheld door justifies hitting someone with a rock on the head, couldn't do it, insisted on an apology, insisted on another apology that sounded halfway sincere, and then herded everyone inside with the weapons, aka kindness rocks. 

Then the painting/drawing started.  My mistake was thinking I actually wanted to make people smile with these things.  One an un-named child painted was supposed to be a "silly face," but it looked like something that was going to eat you.  It was a creation of nightmares.  I talked her into letting me fix it, and we eventually turned it into a smiling carrot.  In the meantime, paint was getting everywhere, water was getting spilled, lunch was delayed, flies kept buzzing, the grumpiness factor kept rising... 

Thankfully, rather than sticking with the project because by golly this is a good thing and we should contribute, I came to my senses.  After two rocks each, I called the whole thing off.  

Cause here's the thing.  There are many good things in the world.  Lots of worthwhile projects.  Lots of great activities.  But that doesn't meant my family has to do all of them.  And we certainly don't have to do them right now.  This might be a great thing when they're 8, 9, & 10.  But at 3, 4, & 5, it's backfiring.  And that's okay.  

In a few days, I might let them paint the rest that are already white.  But I'll be encouraging simplicity. Simple patterns and shapes, that's it. And if it still looks like something that's going to eat your face off... oh well.  Someone can throw it in the river if they find it disturbing.  Might give them some stress relief.  

Friday, April 21, 2017

3 Years

Every year, I think I won't feel it.

The pain, the grief, the memory of the darkness.

But every year, I watch the home videos and look at the pictures surrounding the time of BearCub's birth, just like I do with the other two kids.  And every year, I have the same emotions.  And then the guilt.

Because this was a child conceived in married love, a child both parents wanted.  This child is alive and healthy.  This child was only in the NICU a couple days.  So many children are born in much more difficult situations.  So many children still live with the physical repercussions of a traumatic birth experience.  So many parents never even got to bring their baby home, or had months in the NICU.

But this year, I've come to a different conclusion.  I know, next year, ten years from now, even twenty or thirty years from now, I'm going to remember the circumstances of my son's birth.  And it's going to hurt.  It may always bring tears to my eyes at some point during the day.

And that's okay.

I don't have to forget what happened to heal.  I don't have to stop feeling hard emotions.  My experience does not detract from the experience of others.  I can acknowledge that it could have been so much harder, while still acknowledging that my situation was hard for me.  My remembering of the sadness, the desperation, the fear, does not detract from my ability to celebrate my son.

It accents it.

Because his birth is a story of God's grace.  His birth reminds me, every year, of one of the darkest times of my life when God's glory shown so brightly it couldn't be missed.

When I faced not having a roof over my children's heads, He provided.  When I had no idea how we were going to get our stuff moved, He provided.  When I had no idea where we'd put our stuff when we were forced out of one house before the other was ready, He provided.  When I had no idea how we were going to pay for things, He provided.  When I was at my lowest, unable to care for my children, with a deflated belly but no baby in my arms, my husband hours away with my sick newborn, He provided.

In my darkness, God was with me.

Why would I want to forget that?  Why would I want to become hardened to that?

Friday, April 14, 2017

Forgetting Good Friday...

I forgot today was Good Friday.

I messaged a professional friend and asked if we could move our exit meeting to Friday, and she replied she was off Friday so anytime would work.  I told her to enjoy her day off and we'd reschedule the following week.

But it didn't occur to me why she was off Friday.

Until two days later.  When Facebook posts started centering around Maundy Thursday.

And then I thought to myself, what kind of Christian am I, that I don't even remember Good Friday?  That I've given virtually no extra thought to the death of Jesus this week that we're supposed to be remembering?

Here's the reality.  I've been in some state of misery for over two weeks. One trip to the ER, two doctor's office visits, an x-ray, an ultrasound, a CT scan, labs.  Various medications not fit to be spoken of here. Way too much time hugging a trash can and a reminder that we desperately need a second toilet. Hours spent rocking back and forth in pain on the couch. Hours of Netflix trying to distract myself with something that requires no brain involvement since my brain has shut off.

As I think about previous Easters, I've quite often had major stuff going on distracting me from the Easter story.  Moves and health issues seem to be attracted to Easter season.  And that frustrates me.  I see parents doing great Easter activities with their kids to teach them the great story.  I think I've done Resurrection Eggs one year.  That's it.

But as I started to feel sorry for myself, and then guilty, a thought occurred to me.  A saying on the sign my husband made for me, which is one of my few wall decorations.  "O Lord, Thou knowest how busy I must be this day.  If I forget Thee, do not Thou forget me."  Attributed to Sir Jacob Astley in 1692, just before battle.

God doesn't command us to celebrate Easter on the seemingly-crazy calendar our world uses.  What He does command, is the Lord's Supper.  That's where we remember Jesus' death and resurrection.  That's the sacrament, not Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, or even Easter Sunday.  There's no reason not to celebrate Easter, but if life happens... it's okay.  Because multiple times a year, I do remember Christ's death and resurrection.

And feeling guilty about not doing all these teaching things... my kids know the story.  One of my kids gets it, to the very core of her being.  She believes.  The other kid... going through the Resurrection Eggs isn't going to convince her.  But she's going to hear about it every time we take the Lord's Supper.  She hears it when we read about it in the Bible.  She hears it when we sing about it.  She hears it at random times in conversation when Jesus' death and resurrection come up.

Because His death and resurrection is not just something we celebrate once a year.  It's a part of our life.  It's our reason for living.  It's why we do just about everything we do.  So He's going to come up.  And yes, there are kids who are only going to be in church on Easter Sunday, and we should take the opportunity to share the story with those kids who don't hear it otherwise.  But for my kids... Easter is a part of every week. So if mom's out of commission Easter week and opts to use her energy on keeping the house running rather than big Easter projects... it's okay. I'm letting go of the guilt. I'm guessing there are some other moms who need to let go of the guilt too!

Saturday, December 24, 2016

Joy: The Third Light of Advent


As someone who struggles with depression and anxiety, joy is a hard thing for me to comprehend.  

The Google definition of joy is "a feeling of great pleasure and happiness." 

No... that's not it.  For while I struggle with joy at times, I have experienced it.  And that definition is quite simply awful. 

It's not a feeling, at all.  It's a mindset.  It has almost nothing to do with pleasure and happiness, because it can be found in situations that aren't at all pleasant or happy. 

Once again, I go back in my mind to June of 2014, when my oldest child's head was broken into pieces and made new. When the scalpel was a hair's breadth away from her brain stem. As she was carried away from me, crying because of "happy juice" gone wrong... as my baby girl was in the arms of the anesthesiologist instead of her mommy... I smiled.  No other parent that I saw that day was smiling.  Hospitals are not full of smiling. 

So why did I smile?  Because of my mindset.  Because I had fought as if my life had depended on it... because hers had.  Because I had researched and called and argued and yelled and demanded.  And someone had listened.  And so while there was absolutely nothing "happy" about my baby girl's brain sitting exposed on the operating table... while there was no "great pleasure" that my daughter's skull, the one created in my womb, was lying in pieces on a sterile field being analyzed for parts that could be split in half while her brain expanded after having been squished for over two years... 

I knew it was for her good. I trusted her plastic surgeon, after nearly losing faith in the entire medical community.  I trusted her neurosurgeon.  I trusted her anesthesiologist.  I trusted the team they'd assembled to be in that operating room.  And above all, I trusted the God Whose hand was over every hand holding a drill, a saw, a scalpel. I trusted the God who'd allowed doors to be slammed in my face and mistakes to be made.  Because He knows every day of her life.  He loves her more than I do.  
And so, I smiled.  

Not because I wanted her to be in pain.  Oh no... but because I knew that pain would allow her to grow.  I knew that great suffering would give her a chance to not suffer so much later.  I knew that very hard thing would give her a chance in life. 

And so... having experienced that joy... why is it so hard to keep hold of in my daily living? 

I've seen several people recently use the phrase "stole my joy."  I've used it myself at times.  And yet... no.  No one stole your joy.  We laid it down, at the street curb, with a sign saying "free," when we picked up something else.  We picked up perfectionism, worry, anger.  It may disguise itself as an overloaded schedule, an out of control budget, a family squabble.  

I watched it happen in myself just last night.  I laid down shortly after midnight, and as soon as I did, I started going through the list of all the stuff I needed to do today.  And I very quickly had the thought "how am I going to get all this done, oh my goodness, it's going to be crazy. Why did I promise I'd read the girls that really long Christmas picture book?!"  But thankfully, I've learned something in this last year.  I stopped.  And I put down the perfectionism.    

If we don't get to decorating Christmas cookies today, it's okay.  The girls will be fine as long as I promise, and then keep the promise, to make them next week.  And none of the ingredients will spoil.  The basement doesn't have to be perfectly clean and organized.  It's SO much better than it was, there's room for the kids to play and mom and dad to sit. So there's a few more bags of stuff that need to be organized.  Throw it in a box and stick it on a shelf and call it good enough for now.  

There's only one Christmas Eve in 2016.  Only one Christmas Eve when my children are 5, 4, & 2 1/2.  This is it, the only chance I get.  Why am I going to spend it trying to get things perfect?  Why am I setting my joy on the curbside with a "free" sign stuck to it?  Put their last gifts in boxes and let them help wrap their own presents; they'd love that!  Let them be in the kitchen with me and make letters out of the sweet potato peelings.  Let them help me vacuum, not because it's so important that the carpet be vacuumed but because they like helping me vacuum, even though it slows me down. 

Joy.  It's a gift that can't be stolen, any more than grace could be stolen.  I'm taking it back off the curb and throwing the "free" sign in the trash.  

Thursday, December 22, 2016

Peace: The Second Light of Advent


When I think of peace, for the last few years I've thought of the peace I experienced during Ladybug's surgery.  It truly was peace beyond understanding; I had never heard of any parent being that calm during surgery, and I haven't met anyone since with the same experience.  

And while I'm grateful for that experience... it's time to move on.  Because peace isn't something you just need in the midst of a crisis... it's something you need on a daily basis.  Because it isn't the big things that wear us down... it's the day to day stuff.  

So I've looked back on that experience in Dallas to see if I could somehow replicate that peace in my daily life.  How did I manage to have such peace while my daughter's skull was taken off and broken into pieces?  And the ultimate reason was that there was nothing left for me to do.  

I was completely incapable of doing anything for Ladybug at that point.  Thousands of miles from home, there was nothing to clean.  Stranded in a huge city with no vehicle and little money, there was nothing to make.  I was confident that I had found the absolute best surgeon in the nation at that time.  I'd prayed and prayed, and people all over the country were praying, so what was the point of praying more?  

There was nothing left for my perfectionism to do. 

In daily life... closed fists, clinched jaw, lack of peace seems to be my lot.  I am a perfectionist, although to look at my house you wouldn't think it.  But the state of my house is a symptom... because, if I can't do it perfectly, I just don't do it.  The concept of just doing a small piece of a task is foreign to me.  I can't just start putting together a budget binder; first I have to do a detailed analysis of the previous 12 months' spending, have every bill charted with its averages, minimums, and maximums, have every bill I've received in the last year placed neatly into a folder in chronological order with the details plotted on a separate sheet of paper... Doing 15 minutes of work on something without that being enough time to finish it? Crazy.  Starting to organize without having plenty of pretty colorful bins to organize into? What's the point?

And when I start something, and then make a mistake... start exercising, but miss a day... start eating healthy, but then eat a cookie... I give up.  Cause I've failed, so what's the point? I obviously can't do it right, so what's the point of trying?  It's hopeless. I'll never change.  I'm destined to be the person I don't want to be. 

This year, I was fortunate to join a study of The Search for Significance, and much of what this advent video said reminded me of what I've learned through that study.  That we don't need to do more to be acceptable to God, that it's not about trying harder, being perfect... it's about accepting the gift that God has given us.  And that Jesus is the source of peace, because He was perfect.  He's already accomplished that so we don't have to. So I don't have to. 

I sat and watched a section of my Christmas tree go dark last night.  I looked up when the bottom of the tree suddenly glowed much brighter, and realized a lot of lights on that strand had gone out. But the ones remaining were very bright... all the electricity that had been dispersed through all those bulbs was now going through a third of the original number. But it was too much, and it wasn't long before those burned out, leaving a section of the tree noticeably dark. 

And as corny as it may be, I thought of myself.  My answer for last year was to try harder.  I'd dropped balls, and 2016 was going to be the year I managed to juggle everything.  So I sat through goal setting videos and had my notebook full of detailed goals.  I was burning brighter.  

But it was too much.  And I was trying on my own.  By the might of my own perfectionist willpower I was going to handle it all and turn my life around. Till I lost the notebook. I burned out. 

Now, a wiser person than I might have opted to just rewrite her goals.  Nope.  Not I.  I needed to find that notebook.  Eight months later, I still haven't found that notebook.  And rather than working towards what I remembered of those goals, I gave up until I found that notebook. Which means I've gone pretty much nowhere with my goals. I went dark.  

I find myself in similar messes as I was in this time last year.  I'm overcommitted, again. I'm not being as intentional as I need to be with the kids, again.  I'm not being the wife I want to be, again.  My finances are a mess, again. My house is a mess, again.  I'm not drinking enough water, not exercising enough, not eating healthy enough, again. 

Why?  Because I had to be perfect, and I had the perfect system, and I lost it.  So clearly, it wasn't the perfect system, or else I wouldn't have lost it! 

But I don't have to be perfect.  Jesus already achieved that.  And if I focus on the truth that I'm already deeply loved, fully accepted, completely forgiven... that can give me the courage to just start, even if I might fail, and when I fail, I can try again. I'm never hopeless... And I can have peace.