Lexapro Lock & Gratitude

I haven’t written anything in what seems like forever.

I think I’m okay with that.

Every now and then, I think a writer needs to refuel, rebalance, and refocus…I think I’m in that phase, and I’m not sure how long it will last. I’m enjoying reading other’s projects, finding new books to dive into, and focusing on the day-to-day of life.

Does that mean I am wasting my so-called “talent?”

I hope not.

In order for me to write and to write well, I have to feel connected. Sometimes, that’s hard for me to do; in fact, the last time I wrote something was back in February, and then in March, I was put on Lexapro due to increased anxiety (this is in addition to a low dose of Wellbutrin). I think I have felt slightly disconnected ever since (although I can appreciate the overall calm I’ve felt since then). Although I’m on the lowest possible dose of the Lexapro, I’ve gained a BUNCH of weight, and am really having difficulties in areas of self-control. In the course of the last 6 months, I’ve gained 20 pounds. 20 pounds, on an already-fluffy frame. I’d lost close to 50, and now I’ve gained 20 of it back. I’d like to wallow in self-pity, but what good would that do? I need to get this weight off; it’s the only way for me to NOT be a diabetic, it’s the best thing for my heart, and it’s the way I feel the best about myself….but it’s hard to get motivated when you feel disconnected.

So, do I stop the meds and deal with the stress? Or do I take the meds and just relegate myself to being fat and calm and somewhat disconnected? What is it worth, to feel so completely, and to risk the imbalance of doing so? And what are the consequences?

I know that it’s probably not “normal” to publicly and candidly discuss medications. It’s been no secret that I’ve been on a pretty solid routine of meds for the past 11 years. Life experiences have side effects, as do various medications and surgeries, and there are emotional and neurological consequences that have to be considered. It’s easy for someone to look at me and say, “Can’t you just get over it?” I get it. And I also know that as Christians, it’s really easy for someone to look at me and say, “Well, we’ll just pray for you to get where you don’t have to take those meds anymore.” And sure, if God wants to do that, I know it’s possible…but I’ve also seen Christians stop their meds based on someone’s prayer, and wind up in a padded cell (or worse). So, I personally think it’s better to be honest about these things, and to take some of the stigma off of it.

Sometimes, we just need medicine.

Sometimes, we just need to be okay with that.

My biggest struggle right now is with worship. It is so, so hard for me to truly plug in right now, and to tap into that part of my heart where I feel I can totally let go and get face-to-face with Jesus. I feel like the Lexapro is somehow fencing me off from not just my true emotions, but from my true heart—does that make sense?  My creative process is affected as well, which is NOT normal for me. I’ve thought about trying natural options, but the side effects usually counter other meds I’m on, so I have to consider that as well.

So, that’s what’s been going on. Life has been good; my son is amazing. He definitely keeps us on our toes, which is pretty typical for a 4-year old. I actually think the Lexapro has been great for our marriage, LOL, because I am certainly a lot less-stressed about dirty dishes, for SURE! J We have been tackling home improvement issues (which means we have FINALLY been hiring wonderful, amazing friends who are far more skilled than us, to tackle plumbing & drywall issues). We are both working our tails off in our respective offices, and getting ready to put Jericho in pre-school in the fall. So, life is “normal.” And maybe that’s also part of my “dry spell”—I am so used to episodes of chaos that I’m not sure how to handle a calm.

So now I’m going to just shut up and praise God for a lull, because I certainly think we need it.  I’m going to praise God for “normal.” I’m grateful.

And I’m grateful for medicines that balance hormones, regulate hearts and blood sugars, replace missing organs, and that help prolong and sustain life. I’m grateful that I have opportunities and health care and excellent specialists, and all of that other stuff.

And maybe focusing on that—on all of the things that I’m grateful for—I can break through the fog and find my reconnect. Maybe that’s how I plug back in, and restart the creative process.  Maybe gratitude breaks the Lexapro lock…

Because I definitely know that God is greater. I may not feel Him to the extent that I have, but I know that He’s there, and I know He is far from cut off.

Piece By Piece: Hope for Forgiveness

Song lyrics are intense...Music has such a tremendous ability to affect us; whether it's the key, the tempo, the lyrics, the dynamics--music can reach us in ways nothing else can. I know that's why God made it. He understands that music accesses parts of our brains and our hearts that we shut down. It unlocks us, and it opens up floodgates.
Blogs/statuses based in song lyrics always strike me as lame. It's just a cheesy thing, to me (I'm not hating on it; it's just not my thing), and I very rarely do it. This time, though, "Piece by Piece," by Kelly Clarkson, has caught my attention, and ultimately, it has unraveled me, and forced me to deal with some issues that I'd rather ignore.
On those rare occasions where song lyrics undo me, I usually find that God has a reason for it.
Every day, I pray the Lord's Prayer. Every. Single. Day. And every day, I stick in one part: Forgive me my sins, Lord, as I forgive those who sin against me.
"As I forgive..."
Every day, when I pray that prayer, the same face comes to mind: My biological father.
Why?
I'm so done with him--I want nothing to do with him; I never want to see him again. I currently don't even know if he's dead or alive, and I'm not sure I want to. I don't even think I'd go to his funeral, and if I did, I'd probably slap his corpse.
That's some rage, right there.
I could handle his abandonment of me, before I had children...
When I had my daughter, he never visited. He didn't come to her funeral, and had the audacity to shed crocodile tears over the phone (I will say that there was an ice storm the day before her funeral, but he never even tried).
I've never had so much as a phone call about my son.
The last time I saw him, he was a shaky mess of a person (I will not call him a "man"). I actually felt intense sympathy for him at the time...I had just found out I was pregnant with my son, but chose not to share that with him.
Prior to having children, I thought I was over it. I thought I'd forgiven him, that I was healed.
I was wrong.
He abandoned me...when he had the chance to make it right, he beat me. 
I look at my son, and I think, How?
What kind of monster walks away from a toddler? Was I like my son? Did I giggle over Sesame Street? Did I yell "HUGS!!!"  and run to tackle his knees? Did I want nothing more than to sit by him, to cuddle on the couch and watch cartoons?
How could he reject that?
How could he reject my sister--a happy, bubbly grade-schooler who NEEDED her daddy? How could he just walk away?
I don't understand, and I will NEVER understand, and every day I look at my son, I think of how I will ferociously hold his hand until my very last breath...The lyrics in this song remind me that I am not my father...I am nothing like him, and that is a huge gift from God and from my mother...

"Piece by piece I fell far from the tree
I will never leave [him] like you left me
And [he] will never have to wonder [his] worth
Because unlike you I'm gonna put [him] first"

My mother worked her ass off, to take care of us, even after she met my stepdad (who, in spite of the mistakes that I think a lot of stepdads-with-no-previous-experience make, has been one of the greatest gifts that God could have given me). She worked full-time, kept me in private school, sent us to church, kept us presentable, and kept the roof on the house. She was (is) a beautiful woman who could have been out living it up in her mid-20's...instead, she did what mamas do: She put us first.
Still does, really...
And she loves that grandbaby....She sees the rewards of staying, of caring, every time he gives her that beatific smile and says "Meee!!!!!"
And so does my stepdad--the Man Who Stayed. He is the only grandfather (on my side) that my son will ever need to know. He IS "PawPaw," and I am incredibly thankful for him. 

Marriage isn't easy. David and I have had a few rough patches, and even though we're 10 years into this thing, we're still finding our way. We get angry, we duke it out, we get through it/over it, and we move on. Not too long ago, I looked at myself and said that I'd had enough....that I was finished. I said I couldn't do this anymore...
It wasn't a proud moment.
Suddenly, I looked at my son and realized that he is the same age that I was, when my parents divorced....I picked him up, and the tears ran.  I cried out to God that I would not see the cycle repeated. I took a stand for my marriage, for my family, and for my household. I love the man I married...I think I've loved him since I was born....that God meant us to be together from the minute we took our first breaths. Does that mean this is a cakewalk? NO. But nothing is valuable unless you've worked for it, claimed it, prayed over it, cried over it, and sealed it in Jesus. My marriage is worth everything to me...and his fatherhood over our son is worth even more than that.
The next lyrics in the song are what  made me cry the most, because Kelly Clarkson wrote them about her husband, and how he's not the kind of person her father was:

"And you know he'll never walk away
He'll never break [his] heart
He'll take care of things
He'll love [him]
And piece by piece he'll restore my faith
That a man can be kind and a father should be great"

David is nothing like my bio-dad.  He is kind...he is faithful...he loves his son, and he loves me. He'd never raise a hand to me...he doesn't berate me, or hurt my heart...Sure, he's messy, but he's mine, and I will keep him forever. I can't imagine my life without him...and seeing him with our babies has made me love him even more.
He's everything I ever wanted, in a father for my children. He is a great father.
And in watching him, perhaps I can move past my anger and rage with my own father...

Someday, when I pray for God to "forgive me my sins, as I forgive those who have sinned against me," I'd like to feel that peace that comes when you've truly, honestly let it all go, and forgiven someone for the deep hurt/anger/resentment. I think when that finally happens, a restoration will take place that will be a game-changer in my relationship with the Lord. My hope is that this is one of those things, that piece-by-piece, God makes real in my soul...that the more I repeat it, the more it will come to pass. Resentment is ugly, and I don't want to carry it around.  I don't hate my bio-dad, but I sure as heck would like to know why he did what he did, and why he is who he is. Everyone goes through hard times, but everyone doesn't let their hard times turn them into a narcissistic alcoholic that abandons their family. I don't understand why he's done what he's done, and I wish I didn't care so much. I wish I could turn it off, and pretend he's dead, a non-issue...but I guess that's just a way for me to abandon him, and to turn the tables on my terms.

Piece by piece, Lord...Restore my faith that a man can be saved...that forgiveness is attainable, and necessary...

Moving at the Speed of Life

Life moves so fast…

Almost 18 months ago, in a state of grace-meets-panic-meets-medication, David and I brought a baby boy into this crazy world. At what was no doubt a pinnacle moment, we realized a miracle, saw God’s favor come to fruition, and had a lifelong dream fulfilled; the miracle of Jericho’s birth will always be altered by how close we came at delivery to losing our little guy (cord incident). I will never forget watching him turn from gray to pink, and hearing those first cries…seeing my husband stand up and cut the cord (he couldn’t, at Hannah’s birth—he was completely freaked out)…and that first kiss…Getting to have my son in my hospital room with me…Gosh. Just typing this makes me choke up. I can’t believe it’s been 18 months!  I have friends who have had 2, 3, 6, 13 childbirths; I don’t believe birth is ever “typical.” Perhaps “routine,” from a medical standpoint, but to a mother? Never.

Our little Teething Tyrant generally sleeps through the night, but for the past two nights, he has woken us at 4am. This wouldn’t be an issue, if not for the fact that my alarm generally goes off at 4:15 (with room for 3 smacks of the snooze button), Those last 15-29 minutes of sleep are my favorite, and losing them to a sad baby is…Well, it just stinks. Yesterday, I tried comforting him in between hastily throwing on my work clothes and running a comb through my mop of hair; I finally had to give up and wake up Daddy, so that I wasn’t late for work. This morning, I stumbled into his room; David actually woke up on his own and took over, telling me I could have my beautiful last 15 minutes of sleep.

I love that man.

I didn’t fall back asleep.

Instead, I listened to a father comfort his son. I’m pretty sure I heard the rocking chair (Old Faithful!)…a few softly-spoken words…maybe it’s just the smell of the one you love, holding you tight…Within a few minutes, he was back to sleep, and David was back in bed with me.  I took advantage of the few minutes I had left, and snuggled in next to him, myself.  Jericho’s on to something, there…there IS something wonderful about the smell of someone you love, holding you tight…

It’s the simple moments in life that mean the most. We’ve all heard it before—but think about your fondest memories. Sure, I have wonderful memories of amazing vacations with my family, but it’s not the location that made the impact: It’s the love. It’s sitting around a table and laughing at the fact that your mom just got presented with the biggest crawfish in history, on a plate of etouffee. It’s memories of washing dishes with my sister while my single mother sang Larry Gatlin songs about Mogen David. It’s learning to put brakes on my car with my dad, and laughing because I’ve somehow got grease on my forehead.

It’s snuggling into the shoulder of the man you’ve spent the last 13 years with, side-by-side, and still finding that he’s everything you’ve ever wanted…It’s the old t-shirt, sheets-are-a-mess, can’t-find-my-glasses kind of morning that you don’t want to end…It’s no alarm clock, because you know your son will wake you up at 6:30 (on most days) with coos and laughs over the baby monitor. 

It’s sitting on the couch, laughing over The Office, because you both have coworkers that match the characters on the show…

It’s BBQ on a Sunday afternoon…it’s ice cream on a Saturday night.  It’s “hey, I’ll take the baby so you can get 15 minutes more of sleep.” 

Time flies, and I find myself realizing the impact of the Simple Things…I find myself asking God to make the impressions…don’t let me forget…don’t let me ever take it for granted.  I love the developments Jericho is making; I love to watch him learn, walk, run, climb…I wish I could press “pause” and watch him for an extra hour every day. Slow down, little guy…Mommy wants to snuggle you a while longer…

Simple things…The Very Best Things…

9 ½ years ago, I married the Love of my Life (where it all began)…Although it seems like a lifetime ago, it also seems like yesterday…moments like remembering his expression when I started to walk down the aisle...finding out David forgot his vows…laughing about my Dad forgetting to have people sit down for the ceremony…that feeling of utter and complete panic before I left the Ready Room…and of singing “Bootylicious” with my bridesmaids before the ceremony in the Ready Room, not realizing that the ENTIRE congregation could hear us…(that STILL makes me crack up!)…

Realizing after the wedding that I’d done it…I’d made the greatest commitment of my life, and there was no changing my mind now…and realizing that was okay with me.

I find myself taking pictures almost non-stop, because I can’t get over how fast life changes…David is the photographer, but he’s taught me to capture memories…I can’t get over how the time is moving. 18 months—really?!?

It seems like yesterday.

Two people…two babies…a dog, a small house in the country…jobs, basic cars... a mortgage, some debt…Nothing fancy…

Everything I could ever want…

We’ve had our mountains and our deep valleys, but God has carried us through…We don’t have much, but we have so much that can’t be seen…

And I am so

Incredibly

Thankful…

#100HappyDays #100HappyBalloons

Have you heard about this campaign? I haven't read a whole lot about it, but it seems pretty self-explanatory: Write about something happy for 100 days, and hashtag it #100HappyDays.
(http://100happydays.com/) You're also supposed to come up with your own hashtag, to limit your personal publicity (and to allow the campaign to spot you). I think mine will be #100HappyBalloons.
Because we ALL know: Cassidy loves balloons.
Every day, you submit a happy thought, happy reality, and/or a happy picture, via Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram. With all of the joy that surrounds me, this should not be a difficult concept...unless I get so wrapped up in my own head that I forget to see the beauty in the madness...which happens...because I am an inconsiderate dope. :)
But I'm also an intrinsically upbeat person, 21 days out of 28.
And I like to smile.
Usually.
For me, this will take me through the remainder of summer, until September 26th. There is absolutely nothing significant about this time frame or these dates; I just decided to start today. During the next 100 days, I know several things will be happening: Jericho will start daycare :(. I will keep working. David will keep working (and we will continue to pray that he finds a new job).
The sun will continue to rise, and set, and the world will continue to spin, for the next 100 days.
So, here we go! 100 Happy Thoughts!!!!!

Day 1: #ThrowbackThursday (#TBT) makes me happy. Looking at old pictures, & hearing old songs, makes me remember the fun of my childhood. #100HappyDays #100HappyBalloons

"Mawwaige...That Bwessed Awwangement..."

Marriage. It's a topic that's a hot button today, with "equality" being the focus of many celebrities and media personalities.
The concept of marriage equality aggravates the crap out of me.
Now, this blog is no doubt going to ruffle some feathers...it will most likely upset a few friends, and really, I'm okay with that. I've noticed that if you tend to point out that the Emperor isn't wearing any clothes, you're met with complaints that you must be full of hatred.
Nope.
Not me.
I don't hate anyone.
I just don't see what the big freaking deal is.
Marriage is designed, in the Biblical sense, to be a covenant between two individuals and the Lord. It's a binding, eternal ceremony that joins you to another human being in the eyes of the Most Sacred Himself--you are binding to one another in the Name of Love, by the One Who Created Love, and by the One Who is Love, Himself.
It's a pretty serious thing.
Now, if you don't view marriage as a holy sacrament; if you only view it as a legally binding agreement, and you want the chance to be legally bound to another human being and thus, share their insurance and monetary benefits, than that's totally fine with me. Be on your way, piece of paper in hand. You're married--Poof! We're equal!
SO, there you have it--in the strictly legal sense, I honestly don't care about gay marriage, or heterosexual marriage, or marriage to your cat. Enjoy. Be married.
If you do not have the Word of God, and it's Writer, as the cornerstone of your marriage, then go to your courthouse, backyard, convention center, whatever; sign your piece of paper, and be done with your complaint.
BUT...
If you understand what marriage is mean to be...
If you have even a glimpse into what God designed for us to have...
Than you'll see what's so incredibly sad about the previous paragraph...
I heard a commercial yesterday on the Dave Glover show that actually hurt my heart. It was Dave, doing what he does: Shilling an advertisement for someone who supports his show. Don't get me wrong--I love Glover. But sometimes, I think some advertisement money should be sent back.
Dave was discussing divorce, and how "everybody gets divorced, like, more than 50% of us" (true). He talked about what a pain it was (almost as though it were a huge inconvenience), and he celebrated this law firm that can "get you divorced in 60 days or less." He described the company as helping you to make a "fresh start," like you could just wipe it all away...
Like marriage is erasable...
Maybe today, with all of this "everybody should get married" stuff, it is.
Get your piece of paper at your courthouse...sign your life away to another person you "love"...play house for a while (at least, make a go of it)....get tired of each other....and wipe it all away, for a "fresh start."  It's like marriage is the new debt, and divorce is filing bankruptcy.
In our society of convenience, we have taken a Holy Sacrament, and likened it to a dry erase board...

Let me tell you what a true, honest, Godly marriage is like (at least, this is what I've been told; we still have a lot of growing up to do):  You are bound to each other; you are not enslaved, but you are bonded. You are grafted together, and rooted in the Word. Your feet are planted in the same block of concrete; one goes where the other goes, even when it's through fire.
Marriages of convenience DO NOT SURVIVE THE STORMS.
I belong to my husband; he belongs to me, and we both belonged to the Lord before we ever saw each other's face. If he told me today that he wanted to leave, there would be no such thing as a "fresh start." I would be absolutely, 100% scarred for life. You can't sew two people together through fire and flood, and then rip them apart and act like their headed for some new, beautiful, clean, fresh beginning. You rip two people apart, and you're left with material that's full of thread and holes--there's an impact there that is felt for DECADES.

My husband has fallen apart with me, and fallen into me. He has watched me lose everything but my faith; he is the reason I didn't lose that. We have loved each other through unemployment, pregnancy, death, life, jobs we hate, jobs we love, the hell of finding the right antidepressant/hormone balance, leaving and finding churches, screaming babies, checking account bounce fees, identity theft, near-death experiences, airplanes, cruise ships, and corporate Christmas parties. We have held death and life in our arms, and we have held each others' hands when we've crossed the street. It's been 9 years, and in it, we've crammed more than most people will see in a lifetime. I will say this in bold print and shout it in all caps:WE ARE NOT LIVING A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE.

There are things that I think "holy" couples do, that we do not do (and I wish we did). Like I said--we have a lot to learn. But there is not a single cell in me that thinks the life we've had could have even gone this far, without the love, grace, joy, peace, and comfort that comes from Jesus. He is our foundation, and He is how we've survived. He's why we still actually like each other.

Do I think most couples could go through what we've been through, and make it? Is it too arrogant to say "no," when I have the stats to back it up? 80% of all couples who have lost a child wind up divorcing, regardless of their faith. That's a horrible statistic. I get it--but it's still horrible. It's so incredibly difficult...but I believe it can be done (as I write this, I'm riveted with the fear that David is going to come up those stairs and pack a bag. I'd have to hurt him.),  It takes a strength that I do not have...a strength that comes from an incredibly supportive church, family, and friends. We've been blessed with that.


I do not believe in having a marriage of convenience. I really don't. I believe in making that covenant with another person, in the eyes of God, and in growing together in Him. I believe that He binds us together, and that it's eternal...there could never be a "fresh start" without David. He's part of the fibers of my heart, and I couldn't imagine my life without him. He is my husband; I am my beloved's, and he is mine.

I'm sure that this attorney is proud of the fact that in less than 60 days, he can, on paper, make it look like a crappy marriage never happened. And I'm sure that, on paper, a lot of marriages look like they're forever.

Paper is paper. It's meant to be shredded, burned, filed, and recycled. The piece of paper that binds or tears two people apart seems to be, in today's world, absolutely pointless. Let's give everyone one. Let's celebrate the fact that we can all get this stupid piece of paper...let's celebrate the fact that everyone can tear it apart, and pretend like it never happened, with a "fresh start."
Yay, equality.
Yay, everyone can get married.
Yay, everyone can get divorced and act like the whole marriage "thing" never happened.

Until we, as a society, have re-gained an appreciation for the sacred commitment that marriage is supposed to be, then it is no longer a prize worth fighting for...and that makes me sad, because I believe a godly marriage is EVERYTHING worth fighting for...

The Inevitable...

I suppose it was inevitable...
I have a pretty wicked shopping addiction. Fortunately for my husband, it's the worst when I'm at thrift shops, yard sales, or resale shops. I'm also pretty practical about reusing and up-cycling (everything can be reused or sold). I haven't always been this way--okay, I've always had a serious shopping problem; it's just that until the leaner years (thanks, Mr. President), I wasn't as into the thrifts shops. I also put everything on plastic, which I'm in the process of paying off...again...
Anyways, I love to shop, but I love to sell...and I also love to give when I can. With both Hannah and Jericho, I was blessed with a considerable amount of new and used clothing. The clothing I was given has been passed along to several other new mothers, or has been upcycled at a favorite shop of mine, and traded for more secondhand clothes for my son.
Of course, Hannah didn't get to wear much; we had a huge amount of clothing that I had washed and sorted (so it couldn't be returned); I can't begin to remember all of the people we gave it to, but they all knew it was given with love, and with a broken heart. I'm glad that their little girls got to wear the ruffles and bows...and truthfully, I'm glad I never ran into anyone wearing one of Hannah's dresses. I think it would have shattered me.
With Jericho's clothes, it's been delightful to see where they've gone. One friend of mine brought her son home from the hospital in a particularly cute outfit of Jericho's. It was so cute to see our babies in the same monkey-suit! And since her baby was like, twice the size of mine, he looked even funnier in it.
As many things of Hannah's that we could reuse, we did. We had the nursery bedding packed away; she never used it, and it was a gender-neutral jungle design that Jericho loves. There were yellow onesies, white onesies, Blues outfits, some Cardinals gear--we kept what we could, within reason. I didn't get rid of the very last of her clothes until I found out Bug was a boy. We kept books, CDs, certain toys...we had hope that we'd have another baby, and I'm thankful we kept what we did.
So, it was inevitable that one day, I'd run into something of hers that I'd forgotten was hers, and that it would sucker-punch me in the gut.
And it did, 3 days ago.
Books are friends, right? And I firmly believe one should never gift a book without an inscription.
I grabbed a book for Jericho's nightly Bible time and story time, and there it was, from some dear friends and prayer warriors of ours..."For Hannah: Love, The Renauds, 2006"
I stopped breathing for a minute; tears welled up, and I couldn't help but cry...
But there was my boy,
Looking at me...
Big blue/brown eyes staring up at me quizzically...
Tiny hands touched my knees...patted my legs...
He is my now.
Even though I was sitting in what was her room, in the only piece of furniture that we kept--the rocking chair--even though the words on that page had me split-second thinking of what we missed out on---
He is my now.
I looked at him and dried my tears. I kissed his head, and said, "It's all right, Bug. This was your sisters. And now I'm going to read you the stories I didn't get to read her...but it's okay, because she's living them as we speak."
I know he doesn't understand, and I have no idea how David and I are going to approach the subject when he asks (I'm sure he will; her pictures are on the wall, and it's only a matter of time). What I do know, is that all I ever want him to know is how much we loved her, and how much we loved him; how much her tiny life changed ours forever, and how much we learned...and how faithful God is at keeping His promises, and in never wavering in His heart's desires for our lives.
The occasional sucker-punch never hurt anyone, right? Sometimes it's what it takes to remind us how far we've come...and how much the blessing right under our noses really means to us...
I love that boy.

TED Talks and parental guilt...

Time flies…

13 months ago, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy…and I unknowingly got on this strange, crazy, incredible roller coaster of parenthood.

I mean, sure, people tell you it’s insanity…but you never realize it until it’s your turn. And once you’ve started it, there’s absolutely no looking back.

Not that I’d want to.

It’s terrifying-scary-amazing-wonderful-hilarious-trying-miraculous-and...all of the above.

And it teaches you just how much you truly have to rely on God for every breath.

I’ve also realized that nothing induces more guilt on you, than parenthood. I mean, seriously—every complaint that someone has about something you have, or every brag that you hear about something you don’t or couldn’t do—every little thing causes you to step back and say to yourself, “Oh, man…I don’t do it like that. Is there something wrong? Am I doing it wrong? AM I GOING TO TRAUMATIZE HIM FOR LIFE?!?!?!?”

I heard on a TED Talk that when you yell and scream at a baby/toddler, that it affects the part of the brain that controls impulses, that later on, leads them to turn into serial killers. And then I read that if you ignore your child (i.e., time-out), that it has the same effect on their brain as if you had physically abused them. So now, I’m like, freaking out about yelling at David in front of the baby—does it bother JD? I have to stop yelling—I mean, I’m a total yeller who was raised by yellers. It’s all we know; David is NOT generally a yeller, but I’ve kind of turned him into one…AM I TURNING MY SON INTO A SERIAL KILLER?!?!?!?!?!

I know, it sounds preposterous. But these are the paranoid ramblings of MEEEEE! And these are the things I worry about in the middle of the night…

And of course, there’s no yelling “at” JD at this point. There is, however, immediate separation if he does something like grab my glasses, while he’s sitting on my lap (with a firm “NO!”). There is also a firm “NO!” when he’s into something he’s not supposed to be, and the occasional tap on the hand (for the dangerous stuff), along with a quick pick-him-up-and-move-him. Distraction is the best form of correction, as discipline in any form is kind of pointless.

I’m a stress-yeller, and I have to stop it…I have to remove many words from my vocabulary, as he’s begun to repeat things (i.e., “Ball!” “Duck!”).  If he can say those things, I’m guessing he will learn to repeat several choice words that sound similar…and I need Jesus!!! So, language and tone are a definite work in progress, and trying to tell certain people in our lives to begin that process in THEIR lives is not going well…Ugh.

So, JD is standing now…he’s working on molars…he’s repeating words, and he fully understands his first complete sentence: “What’s this?”  Yep—he gets it! He even used it, in context, in front of the Parents As Teachers lady, who was totally impressed. Yep—he’s a genius, but not a freak-show-kind-of-genius. He’s a let’s-encourage-this-but-stay-normal kind of genius. He doesn’t have any food allergies that we know of (praise GOD!) and he eats anything he can get his hands on. We took our time introducing “regular” foods, and are just now starting to give him actual meals instead of pureed food. He’s independent; he’s able to spot something, get it, focus on it and play with it, and get into whatever he wants. I love how he surveys a room, picks someone or something, stares them down, and eventually, rewards them with a smile. He’s quite popular wherever he goes, and I find myself becoming increasingly protective.  

Can I just keep him in a bubble? This world is overwhelming…endless stories of abuse, kidnapping, drugs—I barely want to step outside, as an adult. I understand my parents’ protectiveness so much more; thank God I was raised in a world that didn’t have the Internet! We’re ALREADY talking about computer privacy issues, and he’s not even walking yet!!!! JD is fascinated with our phones and tablets, even though we don’t let him play with them; they make toys that hold your phone in them, and interact with apps!! ALREADY!!

There are little boys in my neighborhood that play football in the backyard.

That’s what I want…

Play in the backyard; ignore the TV. Make friends in person, not on Facebook. Play baseball, football, soccer…play with the dog or go fishing with Auntie.

The world has presented a platter of fears that my brain just wants to feast on…drugs, violence, crime…How do I prevent any of it from touching my son? He’s the joy of my heart; I can’t even look at his picture without smiling. I want to preserve his innocence forever…but reality is bigger than me.

But it’s not bigger than God.

Raising a child, I’m learning, takes more trust in God than I ever thought…I have to believe that the One Who gave him to us, will take care of him…that He will teach us how to raise him in a Godly way, in a truthful, holy way…I have to trust that our motives and our directions are anchored firmly in His Word and in His plan. Faith outweighs fear, and I believe that…I believe that He holds us, regardless of where we are in life: brand-new and shiny, or old codgers waving canes…

The roller-coaster of parenthood has one consistent track throughout the twists and turns: Jesus. He doesn’t change or fade; He doesn’t leave us hanging. Both Rescuer and Challenger, He sends us out to walk on the ocean…to live in a restless, turbulent world…and He asks us to simply believe He will save us.

My son belongs to Him…my husband belongs to Him…And, because I believe Him, I belong to Him.

The world tells me that I’m messing everything up…it constantly undermines my decisions or tells me I’m not good enough. Jesus takes my pennies of faith, and He moves mountains with them. He takes my mustard seeds, and He uses them to somehow implant faith and hope into my son. He takes my prayers…my tiny, quick, conversations with Him…and He invests it into my marriage, my home, and my family.

Thirteen months ago, out of the very center of my being, came the fruition of years of prayer, tears, and love…He gives us what we need to raise this child for Him. The world can have their research, their lectures, and their materials. I have the Word of God, and it tells me that He’s got this.

That’s all I need to know…

Day 10: Your First Kiss, and Your First Love

Gee, that’s kinda personal…

I was 14 years old, when I was kissed for the very first time…by John Potter….at a church retreat. Yay, church retreats! Sorry, youth pastors!

It was your typical, super-sweet kind of kiss that you put in the back of your memory and cherish for its innocence…but I think that 14 is way too young to be getting your first kiss (at least, for MY son)!!! 

My first love was a summer romance that was also the kind of thing that you put in the back of your memory, and cherish for its innocence…His name was Scott, he was a little younger than me, and we met while I was working in a grocery store during my summer leave from college. He had to finish his senior year; I had to go away to school…you can see it was doomed from the start. I broke it off—I was the Mean Girl, and I didn’t handle it well. I have absolutely nothing negative to say about him or the relationship. It was a beautiful thing—my mother was appalled, and I didn’t care. His home life was terrible; mine was stressed. We liked nothing more than the peacefulness of driving down back roads and blaring the stereo as loud as we could (I blame Scott for my love of country roads, taking the long way home, and for a pickup truck). He played guitar (no, I mean, HE PLAYED guitar. This guy played sessions with BB King. He’s phenomenal), and I have to say that I really and truly loved him. He actually played Celine Dion songs for me in the car—so, I have a suspicion that he loved me, too.

But, the separation of college (and the advances of a particular student) had me wondering if the grass was greener? And in my foolishness, I sent him a “Dear Scott” letter…(I absolutely did not break it off with him, because I started something else. “Something else” wouldn’t interrupt my life for a few more weeks). If I had it all to do over again, I wouldn’t change a thing about that summer. It was the stuff that country songs and Disney radio thrive off of. The only thing I would change is how/when/where I broke it off, because that was stupid. The summer of 1996 is on my list of favorite summers, and I have very few regrets.  That fall, however? NOTHING but regrets. I think the comparison of that summer and fall/winter made me value the innocence of the relationship that I had with Scott, even more.

I ran into his sister a few years after we broke up, and she was STILL furious with me. I didn’t realize that I’d broken his heart…and that broke mine, because I’d ruined a wonderful thing. Scott & I reconnected on Facebook a few years ago, and caught up…but I am married now, to an incredible guy, so the conversation was handled delicately.

My husband generally doesn’t read my blog; he knows my story, so I don’t really have a problem writing all of this out there. We were in our late 20’s when we met, so we both have past relationships and stories. This is where it counts: Scott may have been my first love, but David is my TRUE love. He’s the man God meant for me, and I wouldn’t trade him for anything. However, if David wrote about his true love, I’d be clawing the computer screen out (‘cause I’m jealous like that). I think that David is secure enough in our relationship to appreciate the nuances of a summer romance.

I met my husband in person on May 3^rd, 2002, and our first summer together was an amazing season of learning, experiencing, trial-and-error, and more. THAT summer was so much more than a “summer romance;” it was a summer of laying foundations…of breaking off scars and wounds….of healing and hoping, and of beautiful, exquisite wonder…

So, as I’m writing about that “first love,”  just know that although I look back on that relationship fondly, it’s okay. We should be able to have pleasant memories with our exes, without our spouse feeling threatened or without people throwing suspicion or accusations around. It’s a happy memory, from a long time ago…but it’s just a memory.

When I leave this place tonight, I’m going home to my present…and it is such a gift! I wouldn’t change a thing.