Stripped...

Every now and then, I run off into uncharted territory, for me. Sometimes I blog about mundane, trivial things; sometimes, not so much. This is one of those blogs that requires more transparency than I feel ready to give, yet I'm so troubled, I feel like I have to  write it all out. Maybe by bringing things into the light, I will be able to stop struggling with the dark...

For as long as I can remember, I have struggled with purity. There's been an inane curiosity where sexuality is concerned, that has not served me well. In spite of my mother's best efforts, there were things I was exposed to at a very early age that left an indelible mark. I don't talk about these things--they're embarrassing, invasive, and nobody's business.

Yet, the older I get, and the more I see, the more I realize that the exposures I had are NOTHING compared to what our young people are experiencing now. This tells me that the struggles I've had are NOTHING compared to what our young people are experiencing now--they've seen so much, they don't even know it's a battleground. My stuff doesn't seem so bad, really...It's such an incredible loss of innocence...

We put ourselves in the position to be exposed. As women, it's accepted for us to have a collection of steamy romance novels. "50 Shades of Gray" made S&M "cool" last year, and "Magic Mike" made it all right for women to ogle men. Men think nothing about checking out the girl in the tiny bikini or grabbing a graphic magazine. Stuff sneaks in on you--David and I went to check out a new series on Netflix that had rave reviews; within the first few seconds (as long as it took for the scene to register, and for a remote to be grabbed), there were bare breasts and two women in a shower. I was shocked--NONE of the reviews I'd read mentioned anything about it. Today, itt's not even worth mentioning in a review.

We're raising a generation of people who are defined not by who they are, but by who they choose to  sleep with (or be attracted to). They're basically finding their identity in sex. I'm straight, so I'm this/I'm gay, so I'm this. It's maddening. When a person has a major accomplishment, it has ceased to be about their accomplishment; it's about their sexual identity, and THEN their accomplishment (if they're gay). I don't mean for this to be offensive, but I just don't get it. I'm not defined by the fact that I'm straight. I'm Cassidy--I'm not "straight" Cassidy. I don't wear it on a shirt (and no, I don't feel like I could/should). I don't have a parade to celebrate it, and I don't flaunt it in the work place. I think the ultimate example of equality is not feeling like you have to mention it in the first place. Be who you are, not who you sleep with/want to sleep with. If you start our conversations out by telling me your sexuality, it's going to take me a while to be able to converse with you, without thinking about that. I'm just being honest. I'm not saying "don't ask, don't tell;" I'm just saying "who cares?" I don't. I'm going to love you either way.

It's a struggle for a lot of people. When you push sexuality, and you push the agenda (gay or straight), you are pushing imagery at people that is difficult to process. We are surrounded by sexual imagery from a very young age, and it is messing us up.

Don't tell me that "oh, they're so much freer about sex in Europe." I don't care. I don't live in Europe, and I don't want to. I don't want to turn on a new show that sounds really interesting, and be accosted by nudity in the first 30 seconds. I don't want to have to process that for the rest of the day--I don't want to have to ask forgiveness for putting myself in that situation. I don't need anymore junk in my head. I have too many years of reading stupid romance novels, and too many years of a vivid imagination for garbage. Purity is a huge battleground, not just for me, but for the past few generations.

It's worse for every following generation.
Do we even know what purity is, anymore?

 I know how sexual things can get trapped in your head. Joni Erickson Tada wrote about how, after she was paralyzed as a teenager, she would get lost for hours in sexual fantasies ...It was her escape, and her rebellion against her accident. It took a lot of deliverance for her to get free of that. No, she wasn't acting out her fantasies; but diving into those, getting caught up in your imagination--that's a huge trap, and it can easily turn into an addiction. Your head can be your worst prison; getting freedom in that area is incredibly difficult, and once you've gotten it, you'll do anything to maintain it.

I understand Joni Erickson Tada. I get it--been there, done that...and it's hard. It's incredibly hard to break free, and it's  a lifelong battle. The littlest thing can send you on a spiral, where it's all you think about; it's a mental drug. Only Jesus can break the addiction. He's the only One that can break addictions: mental pornography, actual pornography, sexual immorality, whatever. He can cleanse it all...

But it doesn't do us much good if we march out into the mud as soon as He's cleaned us up.

Once you've made a commitment to purity, and you're in the process of cleaning house, you start to notice what your triggers are. Certain songs. Certain books. Certain advertisements that pop up on your list of "recommended reading." Certain jokes. Even the news...These things either trigger a "relapse," or they make you sick. I pray they always make me sick. I hope the mention of these things continues to appall me. The iTunes account is in an ever-ongoing process of getting cleaned out; the books have been cleaned out...I just wish I could somehow set filters on Netflix, so that I couldn't even see the titles of things. That's where the curiosity gets me--I don't even want to wonder what some of this stuff is about. Am I closing myself off? Yep. But it's not much different than an addict who gets rid of all of his friends, so that he's not surrounded by drugs anymore.

I've gone back and forth, for decades. I'd go on a "bender," and read every romance novel I could get my hands on. I'd get lost in fantasies for hours--I guess it's like being high, although I've never done drugs. Then I'd feel convicted, and beg for forgiveness....then I'd clean everything out (although I'd never REALLY get rid of everything), and I'd feel great...and then I'd go on a bender. This cycle repeated for YEARS...and this is the first I'm telling of it.

Nothing like going public, right?

But I feel like I'm finally free. And no, I really don't want to have an actual conversation about this...even though I feel like I'm really free, I still feel ashamed to have ever let such garbage into my life. I know I'm forgiven. I'm just embarrassed. Writing about it is much easier, for me, than talking about it. Besides--conversations about such things feel very condemning, rather than liberating, and I'm not into that. I don't need anyone to naggingly remind me that "garbage in = garbage out." I got it. Jesus gives freedom. Period.

Like Joni Erickson Tada, I always knew that getting lost in such fantasies, and fueling those fantasies, was wrong. But I didn't think it was "really" wrong, and I think that's the lie that we're all buying these days. If we're not actually going out and sleeping around, we think our little fantasies are okay (male and female--guys, you're not innocent, here). It's okay to see the exposed breasts on TV, or the "covered" sex scene. It's okay to read the popular book--I mean, everybody's doing it, so what's the big deal?  The big deal is that purity is priceless, and that once it's gone, it's a painful and long restoration process. It takes a lot of discipline, and it's a lifelong battlefield. I don't want my son to have that battle.

When I finally got pregnant, I made a commitment to filter everything I listened to, everything I read, and everything I watched. I wasn't perfect. But over the past year, I've seen God strip these things out of my life. He's bigger than my curiosity; He's stronger than the triggers. He's given me the strength to turn things off, or to keep something out of my house. And yeah, maybe I'm a little crazy with it right now; and maybe there are a few things I've let slide, that I shouldn't have...But for the most part, I'm trying to do what I can to not only keep myself pure; I want to raise my son with that same purity. My mom did her absolute best. She kept stuff turned off; she tried to keep things and people out of our house. She was vigilant, and I want to be able to say the same thing. I also know how with so many parents, the stuff still creeps in, in spite of the vigilance; that's where prayer comes in. So that's what David and I will do...We will do what we can, to instill purity into our son, and we will trust God to protect him. Whatever he may be exposed to, we will trust God to keep him safe and restored.  It's all we can do.

This generation is carrying a burden of sexuality that is too heavy, and it will cause them to collapse. It's Fahrenheit 451, and society cannot possibly handle it.  I feel like to the mainstream society, purity is lost; being a family that strives for it will make us outcasts.  That's a journey  worth making.  We will be outcasts for the cause of purity.

I look at my son, and I think to myself that someday, we will have to discuss these things. He will have questions, and I and my husband will have to provide answers. Corrie Ten Boom talks about how when she was a very young girl, she asked her father, a watchmaker, about sex. His response was to ask her to pick up his briefcase--a very large bag, full of metal parts to repair watches and clocks. She couldn't pick it up; it was far too heavy. Casper Ten Boom looked at his little girl, and told her that was his response: The answer to questions on sexuality are far too heavy of a burden for a child to have to carry.

It's not ignoring the question; it's protecting the questioning. We will cross that bridge when we get there, and when we do, I hope that I can share my struggles, and the struggles of many others, with my son. I hope that he values the simplicity of purity over the complexity of flagrance. I hope that he values himself and his identity in Christ...

If this post has been offensive, I'm sorry. It's just that in my own quest to regain purity, I find myself frustrated at the level of exposure that I face in daily living. I don't seek things out; I try to censor what gets in, and even with that, stuff still creeps up. Old thoughts creep in, old garbage that I've read, whatever, and it's frustrating. I wish I could erase my brain, and start over. I wish I could stop the things that creep into my dreams, slap my face, and erase the things that I've read. It's hard to deal with imagery from the past, and imagery in the now, and walk in purity. It's hard to get made fun of for going postal over something on the television that you weren't warned about. I find myself watching a lot of Disney movies when I'm home alone, because I know they're clean, and I won't have to worry about seeing something I shouldn't--how ridiculous is that? But I've had to get ridiculous. It's worth it.

So, this is where I am. And right now, I feel pretty exposed. My husband knows about the things I've struggled with, but I'm not really sure even he's understood the magnitude of the issue. I'm really, really good at hiding these kinds of things. He's definitely noticed the issues with what's on the television/radio; hopefully, he gets my reasons for being so quick to turn things off. I'm hoping that he's seen that I'm serious about cleaning out my books and my music. I've shrugged the idea off for so many years; this is the first year I've truly gone after it. One of my girlfriends was very open in her struggles with "mental pornography," and with her husband's struggles with "actual pornography." It almost cost her their marriage. She has been far more open with this stuff than I've ever been, so I have the greatest of respect for her. She survived this process...so I know I can, too. I've written a lot of fluff pieces over the last few months...a lot of random thoughts, etc...and I think it's been because I've been afraid to get real over the struggles I've been facing. Well, I don't want to be fake. And I know I'm not alone. If you're someone who's struggled with this kind of stuff, then maybe we can walk through this process together. You're not alone.


(It's taken me almost 10 minutes to hit the "publish" button. I feel like I'm going to throw up.)

Debbie Downer: Somebody, give this girl a cheeseburger!

I don't like to post negative things. Sure, I may post a lot of Grumpy Cat quotes on Facebook (Grumpy Cat is my BFF, y'all). But generally, unless I'm doing the old-lady-grump-harumph, I really do try to keep things positive. Cyberspace is permanent, and I want to be remembered for happy things...
But I feel like crap.
Food is my coping mechanism.
But it's making me worse.
And fat.
I've gained 20 pounds since I started the zoloft, and I'm now in the process of coming off of it. Meanwhile, my stomach mutinied. I've never had stomach problems in my entire life, but right now, I'd like to cut it out of my body and throw it under a fender!  I started having episodic stomach pain toward the end of March. After the 4th episode, I went to Urgent Care (which was, as usual, a complete waste of time), where they figured it was gastritis. Since I'd had to be on so much ibuprofen during my pregnancy (it can slow pre-term labor), we figured it was from that. I was told to follow up with my PCP, so I did; she referred me to a gasteroenterologist, who ordered an ultrasound, blah, blah, blah, and my gallbladder showed itself.
Filthy, traiterous, wretched, foul beast of an organ! 
It was full of stones.
D@#$#t, that required another surgery.
#8.
Surgery #8.
And at this point, I'm A LITTLE TIRED OF GETTING CUT ON.
I thought getting my GB out would wind up being a good thing. It was done last Friday, but I am miserable.
Sure, the surgery hurts...but my stomach feels like someone threw a burning torch into it, and kicked me for good measure. It's not the surgery site...it really does feel like the description of gastritis, and I am totally, miserably uncomfortable right now.
I want to eat ice cream to make myself feel better, but the last cone I looked at had 16 grams of fat, which is sure to set my lack-of-a-gallbladder over the edge.
I can't eat to make myself feel better....and it's made me realize how emotionally dependent on food, that I am.
I've had difficulties sleeping this week, in my low-fat land.
I want a cheeseburger.
I haven't lost any weight, to motivate me....and I want pizza.
I feel like a whiny, petulant 5 year-old, and if my Mama reads this, she's going to swat my ample behind.
Speaking of, as tumultuous as my relationship with my mother can famously be, she is an absolute rock star. She took care of my son and I for 7 days of recovery, until I was able to get back to work. She and my dad grabbed ice bags, changed diapers, got medication, cuddled my boy, and practically carried me up stairs. I'm so grateful for them--I couldn't have made it through the surgery without them.
That being said, I'd celebrate with cake, if I could eat it without getting sick...
Sniff.
This is me feeling sorry for myself....
And this is you, probably sending me an e-mail to remind me to get my head out of my rear....deservedly so....

In Awe of A...

One of my friends (A) who hasn't blogged in a while, just picked it back up again. Reading her blogs almost always makes me tear up. I love people who love life...who appreciate the sunrise and sunset, and everything in-between, and she is one of them. She never takes it for granted, although most would say that she has every right to.
She's pregnant with her 14th child. Yep, you read it right: 14!  And though I am amazed at her physical fortitude, I am more amazed at the fact that it has never become mundane in her eyes. I think that's why God has blessed her so abundantly: Every little person is cherished and loved. They're valued at an incredible cost, and she and her husband appreciate the wonder of family.
I'm not going to lie--her last few pregnancies have been a struggle for me. To be on the outside, to want a little one for so long, and to see someone prosper in an area that felt like a failure for me, was a hard pill to swallow. Although I was always thankful for her blessings, more than once, I felt like the ugly wallflower at the prom. :)
So, now, finally, I have my own little guy. I kinda want to grab her, hug her, and say, "Finally!!!!!  I have one, too!!!  Let's dance!"  In A's last blog, she stated that when her firstborn came along, two walked into a hospital; three came out. I like that phrasing. So, David and I are now David and I and JD (and Holly-dog:), and we three make up this amazing little nucleus called home.
My appreciation for A has grown by leaps and bounds.
I love life. I adore life. I'm incredibly thankful for life, and I was before I had my loss. Losing Hannah didn't make me appreciate life any more; rather, it made me appreciate LOVE more. It made me understand love on an entirely different level. Motherhood will do that to you. Hannah's loss DID make me appreciate the wonder of pregnancy to a much deeper extent. I still remember her kicks, her rolls, her flutters...and I CLEARLY remember the jolts, kicks, somersaults, sumo stomps, and occasional punch of JD :). Every pregnancy is different--I couldn't have understood that until JD.  A has got to experience this awesomeness 13 times! (One of her blessings is adopted)!!
She appreciates every single one.
To be completely candid, I really have a hard time hearing people complain about their pregnancies. Yeah, it's uncomfortable. But you're baking A PERSON--did you think it was a cakewalk? CELEBRATE IT. Yes, there are times when your back hurts, or your hands hurt, or you feel like a whale on stilts.  Every now and then, some grousing is acceptable. But I'm seeing people who whine and moan every single day of their pregnancies, and I have to say, after what I've been through, my level of compassion is fairly nonexistent. Sorry. (And yeah--there's a small part of me that feels like I ought to get a medal or something for that last pregnancy. Maybe I can't run a marathon, but darn it, I sure as heck showed some endurance!:)
A could teach a class on graceful pregnancies. Yes, she gets tired (for Pete's sake, I wonder why?!?!?). But every time I see her, pregnant or not, she is happy. She has her struggles, and she doesn't candy-coat it....but SHE APPRECIATES THE LIFE WITHIN, and she celebrates it. The aggravations of the physical toll of pregnancy is so minor, compared to the payoff...You are given this tiny human...this ball of personality and soul...and they belong to you. You are responsible to give them back to the very God that breathes life into them...to raise them to love Him. There is NO greater joy.
I would like to add to our little family. I don't understand why I've had the physical issues that I've had..but does anyone? I have friends that have had 5 healthy babies, 3 healthy babies, etc--how are they able to have normal pregnancies/deliveries, but I'm not? I'm not whining here--it's just an honest question. I don't understand the reasons for all of this. I'm at peace with it--this is God's plan, and I'm okay with it. He has His reasons, and He's not required to explain them to me.
What I do know, is that I am so incredibly thankful for the lives that I've brought into this world. I'm thankful for my beautiful Hannah...I'm thankful for my beautiful JD. I'm thankful to be a parent, and I embrace every day of it with the greatest of joys.  For most people, I would say (okay, arrogantly) that they couldn't possibly understand the joy that I feel when I see my son...they couldn't understand how happy motherhood has made me, how miraculous this whole process has been. They couldn't appreciate the life in front of me....
But I believe that A gets it. I think that every time she sees her children, one-by-one, she is as thankful for each of them as I am for JD. I don't even know how the human heart can hold that kind of love. It's explosive. It's why every time she writes about her children, I cry--because the love just kind of blows up off of the computer screen. It's so reflective of how God feels about us...
Every time He sees us, He celebrates us. Every time we talk to Him, He listens with both ears. His Words explode in love off of the page...His delight in us is a blanket of grace. I don't know that I really understood what it meant, to be "delighted in," as as child. Sometimes I still don't. I hope I can teach my son what that means. I believe that A has successfully taught her crew what that means; if anything, they can see it on her face when she talks to them.
Maybe I have A on a pedestal.
But maybe I don't.
Maybe I just recognize how beautiful her heart really is...
Maybe her words encourage my words...her celebration of life makes me stand in awe of the One Who creates...
Isn't that what this blogging thing is supposed to do? It's not just a way to vent, to sort out the thought process; it's supposed to encourage, to praise, to show His love. I don't always do a good job of that, but it IS my whole point....
I am excited for my friend...and more than a little in awe of she and her incredible husband...I am excited that JD will have more contemporaries from this family.
Now if only I could figure out how to schedule in that playdate....<3 br="">

Noodle-Bugs and Sunrises

During the week, it feels like we’ve established an effective “routine” with our son. Most days, I get up before work to feed him; this allows my husband to get a little more sleep (he takes the last feeding of the evening, so that I can get a little more sleep—it’s a good trade-off!). The only problem is, that early in the morning, JD is not necessarily awake.

I find myself blowing zerberts on tiny cheeks and tickling baby feet in an effort to wake him up to feed him…and this is after the diaper change! He’s a sound sleeper, like his daddy. 

When he finally comes around, I’m rewarded with the most beautiful smile in the world. I promptly forget how tired, crabby, or sore I am; I can’t help but to smile back. Someone at church kissed his little cheek the other day, and got the same smile; she said, “He likes kisses! You must kiss him a lot!” 

All the time…

Every chance I get…

I know the day will come when I will hear, “Eww, Momma! That’s gross!”

And even though my mama’s heart will crack just a little bit,

I will kiss him anyways.

He’s going to have to deal with it for the rest of his life.

So, this morning was pretty typical, although he seemed more tired than usual. He’s got a cold, and he didn’t sleep well. Couple that with the morons that see fit to blow up fireworks at 10:00 on a weeknight, and I didn’t sleep well, either. Waking him up this morning took a herculean effort.

Lots of kisses!  Lots of zerberts! Lots of tickling!  So. Much. Wooooooorrrrkkkk (insert sarcastic overtones)!!! 

He’s so stinkin’ cute.

The cold has made him pretty cranky this week, although it seems my day with him was the worst. David had him all day yesterday, and I was so happy to hear that the fussiness was minimal. It seems like he saved his best screaming fits for ME. Yay. By Tuesday’s end, I was exhausted, and wondering if I was just terrible at this stuff? I don’t think so…but I bet I walked 100 miles with that child, in my living room alone. There’s not much you can do for a baby with a cold, except run the humidifier. I’ve also been rubbing him down with Vicks, eucalyptus, and lavender, and praying A LOT. We did make a frantic run to the pediatrician after he went kind of listless on me; after a nap, he seemed normal, so I felt a lot better.

Anyways, this morning, he was so sleepy…holding him was like holding a doll filled with sandbag. Every time he lays like that, I’m reminded just how precious he is…my little wet noodle-bug! 

He feels secure enough with me, to sleep peacefully.

He feels secure enough with me, to smile at me, and snuggle into my chest.

He feels safe with me…

As I was driving into work this morning, and caught the sun rising behind the St. Louis skyline, I couldn’t help but to stop, turn off the radio, and pray. God paints the most amazing wake-up calls! How could I not be thankful? How could I not pause and celebrate a Lord that loves us enough to make THAT?

I snuggle the bundle of sheer happiness in my arms, and think about the sacrifice of Jesus. I’m sorry, y’all, but I would NOT let my son die for you. Ain’t happening.

Yet another reason why I am not God.

I would die for my son. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for my son. There’s another person inside of me that is a ferocious beast of a bear that would seriously end someone who tried to harm my son. They’d be done for.

Yet our Father stood back and let the world beat, maim, torture, and kill His baby Boy.

What kind of Crazy Love is THAT?!?!?!?!?

I can’t even comprehend it. I start to think about it, and I get physically ill, thinking of what the Father went through.  

My pregnancies have completely revolutionized how I view the Crucifixion…how I view various types and shadows in Scripture…I cannot comprehend His love…

He holds us in His arms…We find rest.

Just like JD knows he can flop like a wet noodle in Mama’s arms, we know we can rest in the embrace of Jesus…

I recently found out that I have to have yet another surgery. My initial response was to call my mother in tears (I actually woke her up, which probably wasn’t my best move), and to freak out about my job, about being out of medical leave, how am I going to take care of my son, etc (not in that order). As usual, she reminded me that God is bigger, which I’ve struggled with realizing this week.

I’m not looking forward to this. Frankly, I’ve been cut on WAY too much for this lifetime. This is my 5^th abdominal surgery, and my 7^th overall. I’m tired of anesthesia, tired of hospitals, tired of nurses, and tired of being “broken.” I’m aggravated that it’s come to this, and I’m scared.

This morning, I was reminded of my place.

It isn’t my place, to be afraid.

It isn’t my place, to worry about my job.

It isn’t my place, to make plans and preparations, and to freak out if things don’t work out according to my order.

It isn’t my place, to stress.

It is my place to pray about this stuff…

It is my place to model my heart after my son…

To lie in the arms of the Father…

And to rest…

I feel safe enough with Him…

That Guy I Married Turned Into Somebody's Dad!

Every day is an adventure.
When I got married, one of my favorite things that my new husband said to me, was that he hoped people would be jealous of our marriage, and of the adventures we'd have together.
Oh, that man!
Mind you, this is a man who picked I Corinthians 2:9 as our wedding verse: No eye has seen, no ear has heard, what God has conceived for those who love Him...(CC paraphrase). I should have known what I was getting into!
For only being married 8 years, we have lived a lifetime. Granted, the loss of our daughter aged us in ways that most people will not understand. We had been married less than two years when she died; the crises, the heartache, the faith, and the trial fused us together to a degree not seen in marriages so young. I credit my husband with keeping our faith together; without him, I would have drown in a sea of wine and xanax. He kept us focused, through everything.
We've been through the loss of a child, unemployment, multiple surgeries, a near-death experience--I mean, sheesh! When you list it like that, it sounds like a Lifetime movie! 
But every day IS an adventure.
I LIKE my husband. We bicker...we spat. One of our friends calls us "The Puppies," and I think that's an accurate reflection. My neuroses are met with calm. My temper tantrums are met with reminders that it's "not that big of a deal." His temper tantrums (don't let the smile fool you--David is CAPABLE of a temper tantrum of epic proportions, LOL!) are generally met with eye rolls and reminders that everyone encounters stoplights (it's not a conspiracy against you, honey).
He holds my hand when we cross the street (Nah, it's not a romantic thing...if he didn't, I would probably have been hit by a car by now).
He will NOT dance with me at weddings (unless it's in the back of the room).
He has photographed the best memories of our lives, and somehow manages to bring the emotion of the moment into the frame.
We're a pretty good team, really.
And as we've embarked on the greatest adventure of all (parenthood!), I've learned to appreciate our "team" even more.
It really does take a village...My mom and sister have been incredibly helpful with JD. David's parents have surprised us with  formula and diapers on several occasions. Dad has come over to make sure we still have running water (plumbing! EEEK!). We really work together to make this little person have a seamless life. But at the end of the day,
It's just me and this man.
This man that I married--I always knew he'd be a great dad. I was right.
We change diapers. We make bottles. We feed the baby in the middle of the night. We pick out onesies or jammies. We get groceries. We make sure our dog doesn't feel missed.
WE is the key word.
I've heard of families where the husband works and comes home, and leaves the children to his wife. He probably works very hard to provide for his family, and is tired when he gets home.  That might work for that family...but it doesn't work for us. We both work 40 hour weeks. I have a very long commute. When the day is done, we are BOTH tired...but there's that beautiful little face that smiles when he sees us, and though we're tired, we still have him to care for.
And we love it.
We prayed for parenthood. We passionately sought the Lord, and petitioned Him for a child.He heard us--He answered us.
And now we are living an adventure that is everything we hoped for, nothing like we expected, and radically life-changing in every way. It's radically life-CHALLENGING in every way. We're tired; we're happy. We're stressed; we have peace in Christ. It's a beautiful dichotomy.
I'm finally getting to a place where I am comfortable taking JD out. On my day off, I'm trying to socialize; this summer, I will be trying to take him out to places I enjoy (without overheating), even if it's just to the mall. At some point, we will make our GHOP debut--by Friday, I've been so tired from work that I haven't been able to go. I can't wait to take JD, though!
I'd like to start planning vacations with him...I'll happily take your tips and tricks for vacationing with a baby!
Every day is different; every day brings a new milestone for JD. And every day includes opportunities to see my husband love my son...and that makes my heart almost explode with happiness.
Yeah, David--we're a great team. And we never saw life like this coming.
I hope we continue to have amazing, wonderful, unforeseen adventures together...

Overwhelmed, Part 2: The Solution

A few weeks ago, I wrote about being overwhelmed by the media…about how I felt assaulted, even violated, by the graphic nature of the news that I couldn’t seem to turn off. Since then, I went through a phase where I continued to gobble up the stories like some kind of journalistic Pac-Man. I just couldn’t break my habit of obsessively checking the news during the day.

Finally, I Had to Stop.

Like I’d said in the blog, I started to feel weighed down by the exposure. Fear began to creep in—“I can’t possibly raise a child in this world!” “How is this possible?!?!” “Dear God, what do I do?!?!?”  Anger began to rise…and it didn’t subside. Fortunately, I’m busy. I asked for more responsibilities at work; I got them. And Lord knows, I’m busy enough once I get home that I don’t have time to check on such things! I’ve also began to filter what kinds of news I read. The headlines are enough; I don’t need to read the details on the attacks.

The news makes me feel like my chances of making an impact are nil. I feel impossibly small; I feel that my “faith” is not enough to move a dust bunny, much less, a mountain. The best thing that I can do is to make an impact in my immediate community…meaning, my son, my husband, and…I think that’s as far as I’ll get. I don’t feel like I can do much beyond that.

The world is too big, and I am minute.

It’s so easy to let the overwhelming media defeat you before you’ve even gotten out of bed.

Do we ever really know, in this life, how far our impact is felt? Do we ever see our ripple effect? Do we understand the ways God uses us? I don’t see it.

But I believe it.

I stole the idea for this blog from www.shortdailydevotions.com  The verse for today is: “And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up. (Galatians 6:9 ESV)”  That’s a good one, right? It’s one of those verses that we read 100x and forget about what it means.  It means that we

Do

Not

Give

Up.

Just because we don’t understand our impact doesn’t mean that we stop trying to make one.

I have no idea how God has, or how He is going to, use me.

I’m a simple girl from Franklin County.

I live a simple life in a small house

In a small town

With a small family

And a smaller bank account.

But God has a plan for this Simple Girl

That is far more complicated than I can understand.

So, I have a choice:  Do I give up? Do I see the overwhelming news, and decide that I’m defeated before I get out of bed? Do I decide that it’s just not worth it? Do I let the day win before it even starts?

Do we give up in doing good?

Because, what’s the point, right?

Or do we keep on keeping on?

Do we continue doing the little things…the random acts of kindness that no one sees…making statements for the positive that no one hears…the drop in the ocean that we feel is unnoticed?

Even a drop in an ocean makes a ripple.

In the overwhelming life that we lead; in the overwhelming world that we live in; we have to remember that we serve a God Who is bigger than anything we can comprehend. Yet, He is intimate—He knows the deepest, smallest things about us. I don’t understand how; but I have faith that He does.  When we do the tiny things that we do, He sees them. He honors His word—the little things we do will eventually result in greatness. We simply have to persevere. Yes, we ARE moving mountains; sometimes, it’s one grain of dirt at a time.

Keep on doing good, y’all. It will be worth it in eternity…

Grumpy Cats and Grapes...

Titles have never really been my thing...:)
I have become particularly enamored with Grumpy Cat (AKA "Tardar Sauce"). If you're unfamiliar with this Internet icon, I recommend you take a look here
I find it hilarious; the blend of sarcasm, wit, and cranky-face, just makes me laugh.  It's not always appropriate...but you can't help but laugh at her.
I thought about trying to take Grumpy Cat, and liken it to some great spiritual truth, but it's not going to happen. This is kind of a fluff piece...
It's a simple nod to a couple of things that make me smile: Red grapes from Aldi's, and Grumpy Cat. And yes, I am thankful for them.
Lately, there's been a storm of drama brewing . I have a lot of questions that need some answers; I'm finding myself tongue-tied, and I don't know how to deal with the situation. My best efforts seem to be ignored, misunderstood, or just messed up. Things aren't coming out right and/or when I have tried to say something, it's not being heard. I feel a little powerless, but it's okay. I don't know how it's going to be worked out.
All I know is that one way or another, it's going to be worked out.
I tend to obsess over these things, and to really worry about the fact that there isn't a resolution...but right now, I'm a little busy.
Sorry, drama...I don't have time to worry about you. It doesn't mean that I don't care; in fact, I care VERY much. It's just that I can see this isn't going anywhere. I can see that nothing I say will make it right...and I can see that it's not about me. I can see that for once in my life, I don't want to get in the middle of this.
Instead, I am going to do my best to stay on the outside. I'll get drug in for a few things; I'll have some collateral damage when emotions get the best of certain people, and they unhinge on me. It happens, and it's okay. I'm going to do my best to not take it personally.
I am going to focus on the simple things that bring me joy.
It's not selfish; it's survival.
I'm going to read my Grumpy Cat memes, and laugh.
I'm going to enjoy my Red Grapes from Aldis, and be thankful.
I'm going to pray about most of this...
And most importantly, I'm going to go home to the nucleus of my family...to my husband, and my son, and I am going to celebrate the insulated refuge called home...