So, I met with a nutritionist....

Transparency time...
Sometimes, things come together and lead you to a huge point of revelation (I almost said "self-realization," when the Holy Spirit kicked me under the table and reminded me that all of this was His idea, LOL). Different factors come together to point you down a path, and when you actually start to walk down said path, you find there are lovely little signs along the way that tell you you're headed in the right direction. When you veer off track (which you inevitably will), there are obstacles that gradually remind you that you're out of line, and help to steer you back on your original destination, and this is the pattern life follows.
I was sitting in traffic the other day, when a scene from Office Space came to mind: Peter Gibbons is stuck in traffic. No matter which lane he gets into, the other lanes go faster. I was in traffic, trying to get to my exit, and everyone was passing me by. It felt so. Stinking. Metaphoric.
I got angry.
At God.
Probably not a good idea, but cathartic, nonetheless. Besides, I think He's big enough to handle it.
2010 has been a year of "Enough" for me, a year where I've determined to bring a new authenticity to who I am and where I'm going in life...a year in which I've continuously felt the metronome of God ticking in my heart that "It's TIME," although I have no idea what for. I've felt the need to reorganize, to restructure, to refocus, and to renovate my whole outlook on my problem areas. I've felt the need to get bad habits under control, to get debts paid off, to stop needing to have my hand held, and to stand up for what I know is right. I've felt the need to stop talking about what I want to do, and to start laying the groundwork to get off of my butt and do it. I've felt the need to stop being so burdened by shame that I can't be honest about the sins and struggles that I'm fighting, even to the One Who already knows everything about it. I've felt an anger rise up in me at a Church that consistently ostracizes it's own people, and continuously bludgeons a world that hates it, though it expects them to drop everything and love some Jesus that only points fingers instead of opens arms. I've developed some strange fear of not saying what I really think, even in my own damn blog, because I'm so afraid of what people will think that I'd rather say something funny than something true...whether it's my pastor or my boss or my sister or my husband, since when did I start letting those people dictate this thing that has my name on it?!?
I may be having my Jerry McGuire moment...and there may be repercussions....
But. I. Don't. Care. And. I'm. Tired. Of. Playing. The. Game.
Things have been said to me lately that have shocked me into dropping my gloves. This fight in me, between what I should say, and what I want to say, is coming to a halt, because I'm done. That's the other phrase that's been ringing in my ears this year: "I'm done."
I feel like I have to be done with these things, before it can be time to break free of them and move on.
This is my year to get it right, and I'm running out of time.
I had someone randomly tell me that I was having issues with communication. (And yeah, I get tired of people telling me that I always say what's on my mind. It's not true, so quit it. You have no idea what is on my mind, and I have very little idea of how to say it without shocking you, so don't tell me that I'm Ms. Verbal here. I candy-coat, I play nice, and I edit things to the point of unrecognition, and even then, I still manage to make people mad. I was raised with brutal honesty without the concern for cushioning the impact, so perhaps I lack a few communication skills. Even with that, though, I'm not saying what I'm thinking.) The person who told me I was having issues with communication had no idea how that resonated with me...they were right.
I've needed to sit down and write about a few key theological issues, and I haven't done it, because I haven't wanted to deal with the consequences of being so open about my faith. I've been bottling it, and somehow, this person caught that I was restrained. She told me I needed to let it out, and I ignored her, still in fear of the consequences.
I've felt restless in my career lately, knowing that I want to go back to school, but not necessarily knowing how I'd balance it all out...knowing that I want to write, and not understanding why it's such a huge thing with me...knowing that I have this huge passion, and not knowing what to do with it, but knowing that THIS IS NOT WORKING FOR ME...
I've struggled spiritually, because of this stifling, and I've struggled physically, as well.
I went to see a nutritionist today (www.pure-nourishment.com) and as she was asking me about my relationship with food, she said something very interesting. She pointed out that when I mentioned "writing," my whole face and voice changed. She said she could tell I was passionate about it, and that if I stifled that passion, I'd find some other method of releasing that tension, i.e., eating. I found that fascinating, and true...when I have something to say, something that has to come out, and I don't, I wind up parked in front of the TV to get my mind off of it, and then I wind up eating.
Right now, I'm sitting in front of a computer...not eating. Interesting.
As we talked, I began to put a few pieces of the puzzle together....I feel stifled. I don't feel particularly creative. I don't feel successful (and by that, I'm not thinking financial). I'm struggling with debt, compulsive habits, eating problems, and a lack of spiritual discipline and mental clarity, and I don't feel like I'm living up to the potential God has for me. I feel like a bad, worthless person...so I eat, because it makes me feel better. Hmm. Doesn't sound like I know a God of grace, love, and mercy very well, does it?
I grew up in a very strict home, at a very strict school (a ridiculously strict school) that fostered more of a religious belief, than that of a true relationship with Jesus. My parents were great at teaching us to fear God, and to fear them, but not so great at teaching us the power of forgiveness; my school was fantastic at teaching me that tight jeans made me a bad person and that cleavage was a sin, and that the Bible was nothing more than a textbook that I got candy for memorizing. (For those that went to school with me, I know that sounds harsh, but think about it. Did that Jolly Rancher you got for memorizing Isaiah 53 teach you anything about the personality of the Lamb? I'm just saying). I grew up with a performance-based belief system: If I did good, Jesus loved me. If I didn't, I got an F, and the world was over.
Somehow, I'm still living in that place.
When you grasp the full understanding that you were created by a God Who loves you unconditionally, you want to read His Word so that you can know Him better--not so you can have your Jolly Rancher at the end of the day.
When you grasp the full understanding that you were created by a God Who loves you unconditionally, you are desperate to connect with this Being that says He made you in His image...
When you grasp the full understanding that you were created by a God Who loves you unconditionally, you don't have to dull the ache inside by eating a jar of Nutella as you numb yourself in front of the television.
When you grasp the full understanding that you were created by a God Who loves you unconditionally, you don't have to go to the mall because you just want to be alone, and wind up spending more than you've saved (and dealing with the guilt afterward).
When you grasp the full understanding that you were created by a God Who loves you unconditionally....
When you grasp the full understanding that you were created by a God Who loves you unconditionally, you don't have to feel like a failure every time you screw up, whether it's eating too much, spending too much, not reading the Bible like you think you should, saying mean things, whatever. I have a tendency to, whenever I do mess up, I do it full throttle, i.e., "If I'm going to blow my diet on a piece of cake, that piece had better be a fourth of the cake, so I can make this screw-up worth it!!!"...and that generally leads to a total bender of dietary disaster. That mentality is cutting me off at the knees in so many areas...Not feeling like a failure would, I believe, help me stop the landslide....
When you grasp even a tiny portion of knowing His love (King's love), you feel like you truly belong, and all of the other crap you're struggling with...that I'm struggling with...falls by the wayside when you fall to your knees.You stop feeling like a huge fat phony when you say you love the Lord, because you understand the genuine affection and desire He has for you, and you want with all of your heart to reciprocate it.
My spiritual issues are a direct reflection to how well I understand and accept the love of the Lord...which, as I write this, I'm realizing needs a lot of work.
My physical/food/spending issues are a direct reflection to how well I understand and accept the love of the Lord.
My reluctance to write, and to get it all out, is a direct reflection to how well I understand and accept the love of the Lord...and how much I trust in Him to handle the consequences, if what I say is truly what I feel like He wants me to say (which is still percolating).
I am not living a life that says that I feel loved by God. I am living a life that looks like I think I might be kinda sorta a decent person who goes to church. I am not walking on a path that says "Peace and fulfillment in Jesus." But I'd like to be.
So it starts here...on this little blog...writing the words that I know I'm supposed to say, but have been too scared to put out there for the world to see.
The gloves are coming off...(who can type with gloves on?)
The plate is being pushed away...(there's really no permanent fulfillment with food)
This is my blog, and I know why I started it...why I got away from writing like I know I should...and how I'm going to take it back.
It's time.

"Grace"

Grace
Falls like rain
Purges like fire
And gives us the
Realization
That without it
We
Are
Nothing...
Yet
It never
Condemns us
To destruction.
It uplifts us
To kiss the very
Face
Of
God
With boldness...
We reach for the scepter,
Yet He extends it to us
Before the thought
Even crosses our
Minds...
Grace
Wraps around us,
Embraces our hearts
And challenges us
To live...
To truly live
In
Full colour.
Everything we
Thought we wanted
Becomes dull
In the firelight
Of
Grace,
And
Everything
He promises
Our Spirit
Blazes a
Brand of
Passion
Across our soul,
Vibrant...
Breathing...
Crystal-Clear...
True Life
Away from the
Shadowlands
We feel so
Resolved to.
Grace makes
Us
Real...
Grace makes
Us
Relevant...
Grace makes
Us
Alive...
He gives us
Grace
Because He knows
Life
Without Him
Is
Chasingtheimpossible-Reachingfortheimpossible-Seekingbutnotfinding-Runningbutnotwinning-BreathingwithoutOxygen-Burningwithoutflame-Colorswithoutred-blue-green
Empty...
Grace
Purges like
Fire
And
Washes the Soul
Like
Rain...

"Here me now, here me now, while I testify!!!"

The title, dearly beloveds, is from TobyMac's song "J-Train," and it's more than appropriate. I'm excited to say that I finally got to see him in concert, and it's a concert I've waited more than 15 years to see! But, it's not the reason I'm blogging....
I have a testimony to share....chuckle...and it's a GOOD one! "Yo, turn me up in my microphone so I can bless God's people! :)

David's brother, Gene, is a living testimony to me of the endless grace of God. Long story short, within the last year he has given his life to Christ, sold out 100% to the Gospel, gave up a 30+ year drug habit, and witnesses to everyone he sees. He's always had a great heart, but when you add Jesus to that mix, you get an awesome servant. Rough around the edges, sure...but I've never seen anyone be such a great example of Jesus with skin on!

Financially, David and I are struggling. I'm being totally transparent here, because if you don't understand the situation, you don't understand the testimony, so here goes...I recently had major surgery that took me out of work for 3 weeks, and will cost quite a bit because I had a deductible to meet. We recently found out that a mistake on our taxes is going to cost us several hundred dollars to correct (it was totally unintentional!). Add to that the need for a couple of crowns and a new roof, and you can understand that the financial stress is suffocating. I know we're not alone--the economic state of this nation tells us that millions of people know exactly how we're feeling. David is working, praise God, as am I, but the input is nowhere near the necessary output. When David's car started to act up, the two of us hadn't a clue what to do next. We have literally thrown up our hands at this point, and said "God, whatever You have to do...we know we are safe in Your arms."

And we are...throughout all of our financial struggles, God has always made a way. At some point, I'll sit here and type up all of the funny ways He's blessed us, up to this point...it's a lot to type! But, this latest story was so cool, I had to single it out:

David's car is acting up, and for the last 3 weekends, he's had to take it out to his brother's house for work, trying to get to the source of the problem. It's a transmission thing, and to correctly fix it, it's going to take more of that stuff we don't have--money. Then we get a phone call, from Gene, and he tells us a story that sounds like it came out of a movie:

Gene's driving his truck out of his subdivision when he sees a pit bull attacking a middle-aged woman and her friend. The ladies are screaming, but the dog bites one woman, and won't let go. Gene slams his truck into park, grabs a big piece of wood, and goes after the dog, who eventually runs off. He loads the ladies into the truck and starts to drive, but then the dog goes after two children! He chases the dog with his truck, and the kids get away, but by this point, he's livid. The pit bull goes into a field, and Gene, with the ladies in his truck, charges the truck into the field with the full-on intention of running this evil dog over. At the last second, the dog hides under a bush, so Gene doesn't get to smash him, but he winds up in the yard of the dog's owner.

Evidently, this dog owner has several malicious pits, and after a confrontation, Gene convinces him that the dog is not in it's kennel (because the dog ran up to Gene as he was sitting in the truck, and tried to bite his legs). The police are called, and Gene helps these very-shaken women back to their home, where the husband of one of the ladies is coming home from work. She was actually bitten very badly, and is understandably traumatized.

The husband (this is where it gets good!) tells Gene he was just getting home from working at his transmission shop!!! He says, "Man, Gene, you just saved my wife's life! Is there anything I can do for you?" And Gene replies, "Well, I have a brother who's having transmission problems that I've not been able to fix. Can you help him?"

So now this grateful gentleman not only properly diagnosed David's transmission problem; he's fixing it at no cost for labor!!!!!

Is God not totally awesome in the way He takes care of His kids?!?!?!?!?

I wanted to share this testimony, not only to give honor to God, but to also kinda make a cyber-monument to honor God in a modern-Israelite fashion. These are the kind of events that remind us that He listens...He sees...and He knows. He is a good God, and He is a perfect Father to His crazy, wild kids.

Oh...and David's car will most likely be fixed this week! :)

Art, Philosophy, and Francis Schaeffer on a Sunday Morning

I woke up this morning with Jackson Pollock on the brain. Granted, this is not normal--I'm awake WAY earlier than I need to be, and it's not typical for me to wake up with art on my mind. Given recent craziness and circumstances, I can see where this is going. According to Francis Schaeffer, Pollock's paintings were a deliberate statement that "all is chance. He placed canvases horizontally on the floor and dripped paint on them from suspended cans swinging over them. Thus, his paintings were a product of chance."
Francis Schaeffer was one of my first introductions into the world of art and philosophy. I'd never really thought about how art; to me, at that point in my life, art was simply someone's coloring book. You'd see a pretty picture, you'd paint a pretty picture, and voila! Art! Through Schaeffer, I began to understand that every single piece of art is a portrayal of a personal and cultural philosophy. I've never been bored at an art museum since, and it's the artists like Pollock that are my favorite.
By studying art, we gain a very clear perspective on the timeline of philosophy in society. When you look at art, you see when God began to be replaced by humanism, materialism, capitalism, and so much more. I remember going to the Louvre when I was 15. I was at a point in my life where I hadn't learned anything about art, and sadly, it was almost a wasted experience. I spent more time freaking out that the Mona Lisa was the size of a piece of paper, than I did admiring the phenomenal pieces that I was surrounded by.
One particular painting sticks in my memory. I have no idea what the description of this painting says. I've always thought it was the most amazing painting, and it's not even in a style that I like.


It seems to me, to be totally Christ-focused, and even as a teenager, I found a lot of joy in seeing that on the museum walls.
It's always struck me as interesting how a museum hosts such a wide variety of philosophies under one roof...from Pollock's beliefs that we're all based in cosmic chance, to Restout's desire to celebrate the day of Pentecost. What's interesting to me, is that Restout's painting was in 1732. Pollock lived from 1912-1956, so you can see how 200 years later, there's been a massive change in the dynamic. In the 1730's, the first Great Awakening took place in Britain and North America, so there was a huge return to spirituality as Restout made his mark; Pollock was painting his major works in the wake of the Great Depression, so there was a huge dark cloud over the nation.
Schaeffer puts it this way: "The historical flow is like this: The philosophers from Rousseau, Kant, Hegel and Kierkegaard onward, having lost their hope of a unity of knowledge and a unity of life, presented a fragmented concept of reality; then the artists painted it that way. it was the artists, however, who first understood that the end of this view was the absurdity of all things." The philosopher said it first...the artists painted it...the artists were the only ones who understood that humanism ultimately leads to chaos and heartbreak. Schaeffer discusses fragmentation (Picasso is a great example, especially when you realize that though Picasso's the most famous for his fragmented style, when he was painting pictures of the people he really loved, he painted them fully and in clear interpretation) and "absurdity" in art, and how it projects the continued fractured belief systems in the world.
When you look at these paintings and sculptures, suddenly the ridiculous becomes heartbreaking...
Ever wonder why in the world a bicycle tire welded to a bench is considered "art?" Or, how about this:


Artists always seem to be on another level, and many of them will say, "what do YOU see when you look at my art?" The belief is that they create, and we interpret, and that's the beauty. I believe their intentions are very, very clear. I think a lot of modern art comes from a very sad place, and most of it doesn't make me feel very joyful. There's a lot of shock value, and very little substance.
When art focused on the spiritual...when it reflected a more Christ-centered and broadly accepted philosophy...it seemed, well, happier. I think that art is an excellent barometer to the beliefs of the day...
Granted, Dan Brown would probably read a blog like this and eviscerate me with his interpretations of the feminine mystique and oppression of the Church in earlier paintings, and with regards to certain artists, he has a valid point, however, there is no question in my mind that art today tells the tale of a society in peril.
Over the weekend, I have seen videos of both a 16 year-old, and a group of 8 year-olds wearing next to nothing and gyrating on a dance floor. The news is full of stories of sexual perversion, child abuse, and a blatant disregard for the quality and meaning of life. And, if you're Jackson Pollock, you are completely unaffected by these stories.
If you're Jackson Pollock, and "all is chance," then why does it matter? We are simply the cosmic collision of a few molecules that exploded and happened to produce life. We are an accident.
And accidents do not have value.
Accidents are not worth protecting.
Accidents are not worth saving.
"All is chance" sounds an awful lot like a philosophy that has taken over our schools and destroyed the sense of self-worth that children used to be taught...
I was raised to believe that I was created by a God Who loves me.
I was also raised to believe that God most certainly "meddles in the affairs of men," and I honestly don't believe anything is ever "chance" or coincidence. He has a plan...
Schaeffer sums it up beautifully, regarding Pollock and his swinging paint cans/philosophy of chance: "Wait a minute! Is there not an order in the lines of paint on his canvases? Yes, because it was not really 'chance' shaping his canvases! The universe is not a random universe; it has order. Therefore, as the dripping paint from the swinging cans moved over the canvases, the lines of paint were following the order of the universe itself. The universe is not what these painters said it is."
We may try to say God doesn't exist...we may try to say that moral issues really don't matter, and it's all just a cosmic accident. We still have hearts, and we still have an inner moral compass, and there is no "accidental" explanation for that. Much of the world has bought the lie, and is in the slow process of stifling their inner convictions...
Chaos and heartbreak...
When we understand that we have a Savior Who loves us...when we understand even a tiny bit of Who God is, and what He can do in our hearts...it is a light that explodes through the smog and confusion of "chance."

In Praise of Husbands...

My hair is a mess...
I slept in my makeup
And these pajamas
Have seen better days...
Yet
He
Still
Holds me close
And whispers
"I love you"
Before he leaves
For work
In the morning...
This is the love that I longed for.
This is the love
That I wrote about,
Dreamed about,
Prayed about,
And this is the love
God has blessed me with.
He may never know
How much it means,
That he holds my hand
When we cross the street,
But I do...
He may never know
How much it means,
When he smiles at me...
When his eyes crinkle,
Sparkle,
At me
When we laugh,
But I do...
He holds me when I cry;
He joins me when I laugh;
He calms the drama
When I've gone overboard,
And he throws me a
Lifeline
Back to
Sanity.
He points me toward
The love of the
Father
And teaches me
Lessons I could have never learned
In school...
Through storms and calm...
Through sickness, and in health...
Through life and through death...
Through richer and poorer...
And through everything
In between,
We have seen so much,
Yet he has never
Wavered...
His hand has held mine
Through it all...
My husband is a
Blessing
To me...

Mother's Day...

I haven't blogged about anything pertaining to Hannah in a while. Believe me, it's not because I don't think of her every day; it's that when I do think of her, most of the time I'm thinking thoughts of how she's with her Heavenly Father. There's a great peace in knowing that my daughter is in Heaven. It's much more than some fairytale to me--the reality of Heaven, of the grace of God and the blood of Jesus that guarantees our eternity there, and the truth of knowing that His Word is true, is a JOY. I value my faith, and I credit the grace of God for keeping me sane through the most difficult times in my life. I believe in Heaven, and I know it's there.

I'm still human, though...and as hard as I try to keep a positive perspective on life and loss, sometimes life just hurts. This is one of those times.

I see people celebrate Mother's Day...and since I have a mother that I love, I should celebrate her as well, right? And I do, even in the midst of family turmoil (which hasn't made the approaching weekend any easier). In fact, with as difficult as Mother's Day has been for me in the past, I've felt badly about not celebrating my mother more than I do. It's selfish, but this time of the year serves as a reminder of what I'm not, more than of who I have.

Today is a difficult day. Today I can't look at the pictures...today I can't seem to pull it together and focus or pray...today seems like the waves are winning, and I can't stay afloat. These days are few and far between...It hasn't been like this in a long time. Today, I feel completely alone in this ocean, and I find myself wondering if a good, long cry will be enough to bring me back up to the surface for air...

For every happy memory of Hannah that I have, I have an equally sad one, it seems...The joy of giving birth is eclipsed by the pain of having to bury my child. Memories of the NICU, of celebrating her leaps and strides, of putting her in her first outfit or of changing that first diaper...memories of how she smelled, or of the little noises she would make, or of how soft her hair was...These memories do not stand alone, as they are tainted by those last 5 days of heat lamps, oxygen machines...of beeps and whistles, of pick lines and blood transfusions...of brain swelling and spinal taps...2 weeks in the hospital, at the beginning; 10 days at home; 5 days in the PICU at the end, and it was over...29 days have changed my life.

I have a memory that plagues me. On nights when I can't sleep, it replays in my head, even almost 4 years later. I don't think I've ever talked about it to anyone, or even blogged about it, so maybe bringing it up will help me lay it down: On Hannah's last day, we prayed for a miracle that simply did not happen. I'm not angry; it's just the truth of it. God decided to bring Hannah home. We prayed for God's will, and it didn't carry out the way we thought it would...it carried out the way He planned, and that is the reality we live with. God's will doesn't always make us happy. But on that day, on her last day, she lay in the PICU of Cardinal Glennon surrounded by tubes and ports, machines, and a flurry of doctors, neurologists, and nurses. I didn't leave her side, until the neurologists made me; as soon as they gave the clearance, I was back in there to hold my little girl.

The meningitis caused her brain and her head to swell; my 6-pound daughter was probably double that size from fluid retention, and her skin was delicate from the stretching. She had spinal and brain fluid leaking through her skin, and to anyone else, she was not a pretty baby. To me, she was beautiful. Heat lamps made her smell different; not like her usual "Cheerios" smell (David and I decided when Hannah was born, that she smelled like Cheerios. To this day, I won't touch them). After the neurologists completed their second brain scan, they determined that for the past 48 hours, my daughter was brain dead, and there would be no coming back from it. Although Hannah was still hooked up to machines that were keeping her clinically alive, she had already passed away. Doctors were asking if we wanted to be organ donors; the chaplain was asking us about infant baptism; all I wanted was for the world to stop, for the clocks to stop, and to hold my baby for as long as I possibly could...

It's amazing, how crystal-clear these memories are. I can still see faces, hear the conversations, hear the machines making their noises...

They told me it was time to say goodbye, and I knew that it was. No one would pull the plug until we said we were ready, so for a while, we simply sat there. I had the nurses turn the volume off on the machine, in case she coded; I couldn't stand to hear the flat-line tone of the Code Blue. My mother, father, father-in-law, and sister were all in the room with David and I...

I have no idea how long we sat there, Hannah in my arms, trying to muster up whatever grace it took to tell the nurse to turn the machines off...but we finally did...

After a while (One hour? Two?), we let the nurse know we were "ready." Is anyone ever ready for that? With the machine turned off, I periodically glanced at the light on top of the machine, knowing it would eventually turn blue, but hoping against hope that God would do a last-minute intervention...I tried to sing to my beautiful girl, so that if she could still hear, the last thing she would hear would be her mother's voice..."Baby mine, don't you cry; baby mine, dry your eyes...." I don't think I even got the next line out, and to this day, will not listen to that song...I tried over and over to sing to her, but just couldn't choke the words out...The light on the machine turned blue, and it was finished...

There were no last-minute miracles, no "Hallelujah" moments...there was deafening silence in Heaven and on earth, and my child was dead.

I have no idea how much longer we sat there. This is the part that breaks me in half, even to this day: Two wonderful nurses came in, to take Hannah's body. I had to lay my daughter down, entrust her to strangers, and leave that room without her.

I did not go quietly.

It took the entire group of 5 family members to peel me out of that room, to carry me down that hallway, and take me into the grievance room. 5 people.

I had to leave my child.

My child was gone.

That, more than anything, is the memory that attacks me when I'm at a weak point (like today). It's what gets me when I can't sleep at night...I still remember the sound, that alien sound, that came out of my mouth when they carried me down that hallway--it was the cry of a childless mother, and those of us who have made that sound know exactly what I'm talking about. There's nothing in this world that sounds like that. That sound tore through my head every day for a year...then every other day...then every other week...and now, just a few times a year. This is one of those times.

Everyone else is celebrating the beauty of motherhood. This is not my pity party, don't get me wrong. This is not a self-indulgent trip to make someone feel sorry for me, so don't take this blog that way. This is simply the kind of thing that I, and any other mother who has lost a child, has to deal with, especially this time of the year. You replay every detail, wonder what you could have done differently, wonder if you did anything wrong...you wonder what life would be like (I'd have a 3 1/2 year old running around), and in my case, you wonder if you'll ever have that chance again. There is a beauty in motherhood, and it should be celebrated...For me, there is confusion. Am I a mother? Yes...and no. I have no children here on this earth, but who wants to explain all of that to a stranger? It's Mother's Day, and I am in a new church, surrounded by a few friends, some acquaintances, and strangers...do I stand up, when they recognize mothers, and ignore the questioning glances? Do I sit down, and hear my heart break because I know what's true? Or, do I do what I usually do, and skip church altogether?

I have no idea.

These things I've written, these are my private thoughts...these are the things I have pondered in my heart, and now that I'm at a point where they've begun to attack me, I am bringing them to light with the hopes that now that they're out here for the world to see, I will sleep more peacefully at night. It's taken me almost 4 years to be able to put into writing how Hannah's last day went, and maybe this is a sign of further healing. These days are, again, few and far between. Most of the time, when I think of Hannah, I think of the happy times, and of what a funny baby she was. Mother's Day is difficult for me, and I know I am not the only one. I may be one of the few who will open up my big mouth (or big keyboard) and say something about it, but I KNOW I'm not alone in this.

This Mother's Day is better than last year's...which was far better than the year before that, and so forth. Every year gets better...It's not that it gets easier; I think it's just that as I get older, I learn to lean more on the grace of God. I learn to suck up my pride and reach out to someone to say "Hey, I'm having a hard time here--could you pray for me?" Every year, it gets easier to acknowledge my own inadequacies, in trying to do things on my own.

I celebrate my chance at motherhood. I look around my church, and I am surrounded by awesome mothers who encourage me that should my time come again, I have unlimited resources in parenting and in education. My little family of 3 (David, Holly, and I) are continually blessed by watching the families in our church. Mothers deserve to be celebrated...

...And maybe I do, too.

A PSA for WOMEN ONLY: The Bra Blog

This one is for the ladies, so guys, bugger off! :)

I feel a little like Oprah, here, but...Let's talk about bras!!! My last blog involving lingerie was a comparison of how my so-called granny panties were reflecting my lack of adventure and confidence in life, and an overall lack of living with reckless abandon. Really, I think I kinda had a great point. This blog, however, is dealing with the facts: Bras, according to most of my girlfriends, suck. The women in the 60's and 70's had a great idea when they decided to burn the darn things, truthfully, and I'm thinking I was born in the wrong era....Or at least, that's how I felt up until a couple of years ago.

I've had some interesting conversations with a number of women lately, some of whom were my friends, and some were mere acquaintances. Women are surprisingly open about bras, given our general hatred of the things; also, in recent years, breasts have gained a lot of public discussion due to the increase of breast cancer awareness, so this isn't your mother's conversation about your girls. (Or grandmother's...my mom has no problem whatsoever discussing bras or anything affiliated with them, LOL!). We have nothing to be ashamed of or to hide, in today's world, when amongst our peers, when discussing bras.

I've been teased about my breasts since I was a teenager. College was a nightmare; most of the basketball team in my Bible college (yes, BIBLE COLLEGE) referred to me as "Hoots," and I seriously doubt they knew my real name. I've had more people converse with my chest than my face, and in the springtime of 2006, I had a breast reduction that removed almost 7 pounds of breast tissue. The surgery was painful, the scars are not pretty, and I don't regret it for an instant! The back pain and rib pain I had, from ill-fitting bras, was ridiculous, and it's never come back. I could shop in normal stores; I could buy a bra from Wal-Mart if I wanted to, and finally wear shirts that buttoned in the front. It was glorious...still is, frankly.

I hear women gripe about their bras all the time, and I understand. I mean, walk into Victoria's Secret! Those things are designed to dig in, push up, pull together, and make you think you look like one of those stick-figures-with-silicone that they plaster on their walls. They're pretty bras, granted, and I certainly have my fair share...and honestly, there are a few occasions where we all need to be pushed up and pulled together...HOWEVER:

Every woman should see a certified bra-fitting specialist, probably once a year or more. If you are still wearing the same bras you wore 2 years ago, you might be in the wrong-fitting bra. And when I say "certified," please know there is an actual certification process for fitting a bra--it's not just, slap a tape measure here, and keep trying them on until you find one that kinda fits, I can promise you that. Macy's and JCPenney will often have a bra specialist come in, and occasionally have one on staff. Betty Will-Bower of Body Graphics in Crestwood is the best I know of, and had I met her before my reduction, I may not have had the surgery. No one else that I've seen for a fitting has been as gentle, professional, and as accurate in getting my actual size (Oh, she operates out of small, comfortable office--314-849-5009--she's the sweetest lady you will ever meet!) (You will notice that I'm NOT mentioning the over-hyped Ann's Bra Shop. I had a really bad experience there, so they're not on my list). Betty has taught me a few things about bras that every woman should know:
1. If you notice your bra during the day, it's not fitting you correctly. WHAT? Seriously? Yep...I have always been the one who's adjusting a strap, pulling the band out from my rib cage, etc...My bra is the first thing to go when I get home. After getting properly fit, my first sign that there was a change was that I left the thing on until I got to bed that night. I was impressed!
2. Unless you're sleeping, those girls need to be supported. The pulling and strain on your tissues are what cause the sagging we see in younger and younger women.
3. This was a big one for me: There are comfortable underwires!!! I've always been an underwire girl, but have never liked them; I never felt like a softcup could give me adequate support. Betty helped me to find comfortable, supportive underwires that didn't make me feel like I was wearing a cage and...
4. There are comfortable, supportive softcup bras!!! I have friends who won't wear underwires, and yet their softcups always make them look like they have uniboob (you KNOW what I'm talking about!). I'm now the proud owner of several softcup bras, and am impressed at their engineering!
5. Bra sizes change throughout your menstrual cycle. You're not imagining it. We can go up to or even past, a full cup-size difference throughout the month. We need bras to prepare for that.
6. No one has naturally symmetrical breasts. In fact, Fruit-of-the-Loom is now coming out with a bra that you purchase by the half, i.e, you buy one side with one cup, and then buy the other, clip them together in the front and the back and BOOM! You have a perfectly customized bra. Time will tell if they actually make these for women who are bigger than a C-cup (Don't you hate that? They come out with awesome bras, and then you can't find your size!!! Argh!).
7. Speaking of size, someone out there has your bra size. Betty actually has bras she can order that are an LL and bigger. I didn't know that existed. I know before my reduction, I purchased my bras online from England; it seems they have a lot of bigger-cup bras that come from there. But don't be discouraged--your size exists.

I seem completely unable to write a top-10 list lately, so 7 is all I've got. But honestly, how many women do you know, complain about their bras? Having a bra that fits you properly is important to back health and to breast health. Our breasts are made of soft tissue that requires support; we, as busy women, require comfort. It is possible! I have seen women who have survived breast cancer...women who's breasts are scarred...women who are well-endowed to the point of embarrassment (never be embarrassed!), and women who are under-endowed to the point of embarrassment (again, NEVER be embarrassed!). The one thing we all have in common is not only do we have our "lovely lady lumps;" we all need to take care of them, and of ourselves.

This blog is my PSA, again, based on my many recent conversations with women who complain about their bras. It doesn't have to be that way...Here are 21 more facts that women need to know, before buying a bra:

21 Things To Know Before Buying A Bra

1. Get fitted by a certified bra specialist.
2. To make sure that the bra fits properly, take note of the band size.

* You want the band to fit snug and secure around the body and to be anchored low.

3. The center tab of the bra should lie flush against the chest wall.
4. Make sure that the straps are adjusted for additional support.
5. The breast tissue needs to be contained inside the bra cup. No spillage, no double bubbling and no puckering (which means that the cup is too big).
6. Most women wear their bands too big and their cups too small! That is why the ride up in the back and cause some women to have back problems.

*Also, it is important to get fitted twice a year.

* Remember: many factors affect our bra measurement such as pregnancy, child birth, menopause and weight fluctuation.

7. Pay attention to the shirt silhouette with the bra straps. There are different bras that should be worn with different shirts and clothing articles.
8. Showing your bra straps is NOT acceptable!
9. If you are wearing a tank top, then you should wear a racerback bra.
10. If you are wearing a halter top or a top that criss crosses in the back, then you would wear a convertible bra.
11. With a t-shirt or tighter fitting top, wear a contour bra, and it should be seamless.
12. Always wear a nude bra with a white shirt not a white bra.
13. If you find a bra brand that fits and it's comfortable, chances are their other styles will fit you as well. Look to that brand first before venturing to others.
14. If you are wearing a strapless dress or top, always wear a strapless bra. A good strapless bra that fits correctly will stay up.
15. If you are looking to streamline or reduce the appearance of your bustline, then a minimizer is the bra for you.
16. If you need to enhance your bustline, a push-up bra will give you a naturally fuller look.
17. If you are wearing a blouse, this is when you can wear a seamed pretty lacey bra.
18. A properly fitted bra will make a world of difference in how your outerwear lays on your body.
19. Bras have many different functions. Whether you want to lift, shape, minimize or maximize- there is a bra for you.
20. The most important part of your outfit is what you put under it!
21. Most importantly of all, a bra needs to be comfortable!

-- Information provided by Megan's Lifestyle Boutique